


A Series of Events

by babygray



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dubious Consent, HP: EWE, M/M, Memory Charms, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 61,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10412232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygray/pseuds/babygray
Summary: In January, the impossible occurred. It took Severus until April to realize just what that was, and to believe.Snarry Mpreg, takes place during Half-Blood Prince.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first seven chapters of this story was first posted on [deviantart](http://babygray.deviantart.com/art/A-Series-of-Events-84320808) (of all places) and [ff.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4252062/) back in 2008. It's been updated sporadically since then.

It was around the month of April that Severus began to suspect the impossible.

It certainly wasn't in January, although that month did have a horrifying charm all its own. It was a few days after the New Year, and a few before the anniversary of his own ill-received birth, that the simply inconceivable and reprehensible occurred.

Harry Potter had buggered him.

The week before had been hectic for the Potions Master and current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The situation with young Mr Malfoy was still not within his control and both the Headmaster and the Dark Lord loomed over his every waking thought. Even now, as the Headmaster's health was fading away by the moment, Severus knew that things were slowly, but surely, reaching their inevitable conclusion, with or without his participation.

In spite of himself, he almost wished, on occasion, that it would all just end already. Certainly, the wait was not helping him in his attempts to prevent it.

Potter, who, true to form, was breaking rules and throwing useless accusations throughout the castle, was not helping the situation, but Severus never expected much from the boy. He didn't have to deal with the boy nearly as much as he had the year prior, but Black's death had turned the wretched urchin into even more of an irritant, if that was even possible.

So, right after the holidays, when he caught Potter after curfew in a third-floor corridor near Ravenclaw Tower, Severus was not surprised in the least by the boy's almost-volcanic reaction. When the boy began to make what he surely thought were sly, clever insinuations, however, Severus's control, stretched thin as it was, loosened just enough to grab the boy by the upper arm and pushed him through the nearest unlocked door.

The fact that the door led to a small, windowless room no bigger than a cupboard was of no great consequence at the time.

"If you had any sense," Severus said as he pushed Potter none-too-gently against the now-closed door with one hand, "you would keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about." With his free hand, he cast an eye-squinting _Lumos_ to light the darkness. In the wandlight, he stared at the boy's face. Potter's expression only grew more flushed as Severus continued, "However, you are a Potter." He loomed over the boy in the small space. "You are not necessarily bred for common sense."

The boy's eyes darken with the typical overabundance of emotion. He could make out every speckle, every minute variation in the green of the boy's irises. It was getting harder every year not to notice Lily's marks on the boy, not the least of which were his eyes. Harder, yes, but as the inevitable approaches, it also made it easier to remember all he had to atone for.

"I know exactly what's going on," Potter snapped back at him, shoving his chin defiantly at his professor. For a moment, Severus had hoped the boy would have been derailed by the comment on his genealogy.

"Do you now?" Severus said, his own position unwavering even as his grip tightened on Potter's arm. "I'm surprised you are capable of knowing anything at all. And, of course, you went to bother the Headmaster with whatever nonsense you think you know."

"I don't think I know," Potter said with a snarl. "I _know_ I know."

"And what did the headmaster tell you when you told him whatever it is that you _think_ you know," Severus pressed, the gap between his body and the boy's thinner than propriety would have allowed. The boy's ragged, uncontrollable breaths were hot against his cheek. He yanked the boy's arm upwards to bring them more eye-to-eye. "Keep out of affairs that do not concern you."

It was then that Severus sensed it, the figurative snake in the grass. How or when it had developed into the blood-gorged embarrassment it was at that moment did not matter. Severus's sneer became much more pronounced than should have been allowed by nature as Potter's face darkened from something other than self-righteous fury.

Severus wouldn't be the man he was if he had allowed this weakness to go unaddressed.

"My, and here I thought we hated each other, Mr Potter," Severus said as he made no move towards or away from the faint bulb of heat touching his leg.

"Shut up," Potter said through clenched teeth as he tried to pull himself out of Severus's grip while attempting to not press any more of himself against his professor. He was not succeeding by either count. "Get off of me!"

Severus let go of the boy's arm without warning, causing the boy to stumble against the wall. "Ask and you shall receive," he said with dark humor.

The words barely left Severus when Potter attacked.

Whether it was premeditated or a mark of malicious clumsiness, it was unimportant. What was important was how Potter, in an attempt to regain balance, grabbed a fistful of Severus's robes and pulled his professor against him.

It was still there, that hot expression, now pressed completely against Severus, but that was not foremost on the list of items that needed to be addressed. The hot hand gripping Severus's forearm wasn't either. Surprisingly enough, Severus's own heightening arousal was not even registering properly at the moment.

The gasping, sudden, demanding kisses the boy was giving him were taking all of his attention.


	2. Chapter 2

It was around the month of April that Severus began to wonder if the impossible could even be called such.

It was still January 6th, however, and Severus was still trying to reconcile what he knew about Harry Potter and what had just happened. He could not even comprehend the sort of mental synapses that could have sparked in the boy's brain to lead to what they had done.

He certainly had no choice in the matter. True, he had allowed it to happen. He took it like a man and enjoyed it as greatly as any man could have under the circumstances, on his knees in the cold, tight confines of that room.

And when it was all over, when he finally allowed his body to collapse into a heap of afterglow and he could feel a trickle of hot wetness dribble down his leg, he was unable to find a suitable reason to help excuse his behavior. Not while Potter was coming down from his own high and beginning to hyperventilate behind him. Not when he had been witness to the way the boy's body became rigid just before ejaculation. Not with his smalls willingly torn off his body, and Potter's in a similar, deplorable state.

Potter seemed to be coming to his senses faster than Severus would had preferred and began to stammer in panic. Severus groaned as he rolled onto his side, turning his back to the foolish boy.

"Snape!" Potter said in a panicky gasp at the sound of the groan. "What did I… You made me do this. You! I didn't mean to…"

Completely certain that Potter was not saying anything worth listening to at the moment, Severus tucked his body in a more fetal-like position. Now that the last bit of afterglow has left him, he became more and more aware of the burning pain in his backside and the chill of the floor.

He rose up on his arms and pushed himself into a semi-sitting position, carefully avoiding putting any of his weight directly onto his posterior. Potter was still panicking in his corner.

"Potter," he said, trying and failing to get the boy's attention. "Potter!" he said again, this time succeeding. The boy stopped his incessant babble. Severus suddenly felt too tired to deal with any of this. "Return to your Common Room."

"But-"

"Go," Severus said as he leaned against the wall, the pain in his bottom numbed somewhat by the cold floor. "I'll deal with this all later," he added in a low mutter as he heard Potter shuffle about, picking up the scraps of his clothes and his dignity.

Severus's fingers found his wand, properly tucked away in its pocket in defiance of the manic-filled congress they had just participated in.

Potter was nearly at the door.

"Potter," Severus called again. He heard more than saw the boy turn towards him. He could almost imagine the look on the boy's face. "Come here."

It took a moment for the boy to move towards him. He placed a hand on Severus's shoulder with unexpected gentleness and expected impropriety. Severus reached out and placed his wand-free hand on Potter's chin and moved his head so that he could be sure exactly where Potter's face was.

"Sir?" Potter said with hesitation.

" _Obliviate_."


	3. Chapter 3

It was around the month of April that Severus had begun to panic.

January, on the other hand, was almost business as usual, and the situation was the same as it had been before the start of the year. One small, insignificant spell, and what had happen on the Epiphany was nothing more than a strange, unremarkable dream with no meaning and, ultimately, no resolution.

Potter, of course, did not remember what had occurred that night. Severus had sent him back to Gryffindor Tower the way he had found him, minus a few dozen House points for rule-breaking. He didn't remember and if Severus could manage to forget the event as well, that would be the end of it.

He did not regret the decision of casting the Memory Charm on the boy. What had happened between them was a mistake that Severus still could not reason away. It was the boy's fault, of course. He was the one to instigate it, though now that his memory had been altered, Severus had no way of knowing why.

Unless it happened again.

A small part of him wasn't sure if he really didn't want it to happen again.

A stab of pain in his abdomen made him lose his composure and grimace briefly. He immediately regain his detached cool, though his teeth clenched against the unceasing cramp. Glancing about, he did not see anyone in the Great Hall that could have noticed his momentary lapse. The children were too busy gorging themselves to take notice of their professors.

Someone had noticed, however, he realized when he spotted Potter glaring at him from inside his circle of sycophants and sidekicks. But of course. The boy was always watching.

The young Mr Malfoy, who always had that useful ability to sense every odd movement his 'rivals' made, seemed to have noticed as well, if Severus was to go by the calculating glint in the boy's eyes.

Headmaster Dumbledore, always that paragon of watchfulness, much to Severus' misfortune, had deigned to join the school that evening after a series of absences. A quick peek at the old man from the corner of his eye confirmed that the old man had noticed as well.

The meal barely ended when Severus was invited to the Headmaster's office for a quick word.

The Headmaster's office, as it have been for as long as Severus remembered, was a dream world of light and magic, with the Headmaster himself as both curator and main attraction. Silver instruments spun and chimed amidst the tapestries of the school's long, illustrious history. Severus paid no mind to the child-like toys or the phoenix familiar and instead focused all his attention on the Headmaster himself. After the usual pleasantries, cut short as they were due to the Headmaster's condition, Severus took his usual seat in front of the Headmaster's desk.

"Are you feeling alright, Severus?" Dumbledore finally began to ask, a look of worry on the man's bearded face. "Has the Mark been flaring tonight?"

"No, Headmaster," Severus said succinctly. "If it had, I would have informed you."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding almost disappointed that he was wrong. He made a move towards the small dish of sweets he always kept on his desk and retrieved a small piece. "Then that flinch I saw was not related to anything of great importance?"

"Of course not," Severus said. "It was nothing more than a slight muscle cramp."

The old man seemed satisfied with this explanation and nodded his head once. The sparkles embroidered into his hat bobbed up and down for a moment, completely caught unaware by the sudden motion. The felt bird that had been fluttering around the brim was tossed a bit off-course. "Well, I certainly do hope so," the Headmaster said as he sucked lightly on the sweet. The bird on his hat fluttered out of Severus's sight. "You will see Madam Pomfrey if your pain persists, of course?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Severus said, knowing that he would not go, even if the abdominal pains grew worse.

He was certain they would subside in time.


	4. Chapter 4

It was around the month of April that Severus began to suspect some things were beyond his control.

By the beginning of February, however, life was only growing more and more frustrating. It seemed that the demands being made of him from all sides were not enough. He has been ill every single day without exception since mid-January.

He wasn't sure exactly what had triggered it. One moment, he was discussing the massive flaws of a third year Hufflepuff's attempt at improvisation. The next, he was desperately trying to keep his lunch from reappearing, particularly all over the afore-mentioned third year Hufflepuff. He hiccupped and swallowed before composing himself and continuing with his commentary.

"Miss Keeler," he said in his most imperious voice as he looked down on the mousy girl even as the taste of acid filled the back of his throat. "I do believe that if you actually tried to defend yourself against a Dark creature in the wild, not only will you die, but you will die so spectacularly that your very name, Miss Keeler, will enter the English language as synonymous with complete and utter incompetence."

Not that he believed she could ever beat the incompetence of one Gilderoy Lockhart, but she was welcomed to try. Just not during his class. He should make sure that she was especially clear on that one point.

The girl began to sniffle pathetically at the words, despite the fact that he was merely _discussing_ the situation with her. His stare hardened. Were those tears forming in her eyes?

At that moment, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class.

Well, he'd just have to wait another day to finish this discussion. "Leave, Miss Keeler, before you disappoint me further," he said to the girl, noting with irritation that, yes, the girl's eyes were indeed brimming with tears. Her classmates, in hopes of not attracting any unwanted attention, gathered their things and rushed out to their next class and out of his clutches. Their hurried motions did nothing to ease the churning in his stomach. "I hope that you will learn to follow directions in the future."

With those words, he turned and strode towards the preparation room. He could hear Miss Keeler's friends reassuring her that he was nothing more than a mean, greasy bat with little else in his life aside from terrorizing students. Such talk deserved more than a mere handful of points taken away, and on any other day, Severus was more than eager to collect. He was more concerned, however, with reaching the sink in the preparation room before it was too late than with detracting points from simple, unassuming Hufflepuff.

He made it just in time and retched the remains of what had been lunch out into the stone basin. It was an unpleasant affair that petered out with a handful of dry heaves before residing.

He stared at the acid-coated contents of his purged stomach. He recognized one white chunk of cheese here, one bit of green vegetable there. First the persistent muscle cramps in his abdomen, and now the unexpected bouts of nausea. He was beginning to think, and not for the first time, that he was quite the lightning rod for misfortune.

He gargled with some water in an attempt to get the vile taste out of his mouth. The gargling made his stomach churn in a sickening fashion. He spat the water into the sink and leaned against the stone basin, his head low and his arms rigidly holding him up. He took a moment to gather his wits and his strength, exhausted from the nausea. Perhaps it was not just his meal that he had dispelled.

He took a deep breath and straightened his back. He banished the mess from the sink and prepared himself for the next class, hoping that would be the end of it.

~~~*~~~

It didn't end that day, however. It happened every day for a week, and it wasn't long before he began to take evasive action. He started taking a nausea potion to ease the effects. He began eating milder and milder food at meals in hopes of not upsetting his stomach further. Before too long, he was eating nothing but toast and drinking nothing but potion and very weak tea, but none of his preventive measures were helping. On average, he was keeping down about a third of his meals, and just barely.

If anyone had noticed his problem, they hadn't mentioned it. Dumbledore hadn't appeared at meals since just after the holidays and hadn't seen how Severus has been spending his. Minerva, the sharp-eyed tabby that she was, had noticed something was off, but after questioning him on it, came to the conclusion that it was merely a result of the work he was doing for the Order. The rest of the occupants of the castle, however, were completely oblivious, or worse, unconcerned.

Severus gave the rest of the Great Hall a glance and found Potter staring at him again. He assessed the look and, once he found it was a completely normal glare from the boy, Severus returned his attention to the chicken broth he was hoping would stay down afterwards.


	5. Chapter 5

It was around the month of April that Severus began to grow more and more concerned.

At the moment, however, Severus was having a small dilemma.

The problem had nothing to do with the Headmaster, though the argument he had with the man recently was still a sore issue between them. In spite of outside threats and his rapidly deteriorating health, the Headmaster seemed determined to save the world, and he had no qualms in using Severus's soul as payment, and not just Severus's. If Severus thought about _that_ again, he was going to be sick.

Or, rather, sicker than he already was. It was already nearing mid-March and while the initial, near-constant nausea had subsided, whatever it was that had caused the imbalance had not left his system. The abdominal cramps, also, had not ceased. It was truly becoming worrisome, especially as he began to notice how weak he had become since January, not just physically, but magically as well. He refused to acknowledge the fatigue, but it was there, plaguing him.

These were not the problems at hand, however.

The problem at the moment was his waistline.

True, once the nausea had begun to subside, he was able to return to a more regular diet. He doubted, however, that this dietary change was enough to cause the little belly that had begun to form. It was small, no more than a bump, but on his otherwise emaciated body, it stuck out almost obscenely over the top of the waistband of his pants.

He stared at it for a long time, taking in its shape from all angles with the aid of a mirror. He was attempting to understand how exactly it had come into existence, however difficult that was while the mirror chattered on uselessly.

Not for the first time in the last few months, he had thought of and then rejected the idea of seeing Madam Pomfrey concerning his condition. The situation seemed to be growing worse by the day, with something new happening to plague him. Severus, however, refused to ask for help. It was still somewhat manageable, and he believed that he was more than capable of dealing with it alone.

The Mark on his arm flared then and he hurriedly got dressed, assured, if for the moment, that the abnormal bump was hidden underneath the folds of his robes. Vowing to buy some sort of girdle by the following weekend, if only for peace of mind, he grabbed a small black satchel and raced out the door.

As he made his way out of the castle, he sent his Patronus to the Headmaster with a message, knowing that even the sight of the silver doe should be enough for the old man to know what Severus was up to that night.

Once out on the grounds, he hurried to the edge of the anti-Apparation wards, dodging in and out of shadows so as not to be spotted by anyone inside the castle nor by any of the Aurors patrolling the grounds. Once he was out of the wards and comfortably hidden, he draped a hooded robe over himself and donned his mask. A part of him was annoyed that he had to deal with all of this on a school night. The rest was mentally preparing for what might or might not occur.

He touched his wand to his Mark and Apparated to the Dark Lord's side. The journey, however short it was, left him disoriented enough to stumble when he arrived.

Someone had seen and laughed at his expense. It was a high, mad sound that he recognized easily.

"Ah, Severus," Bellatrix Lestrange called out, her voice still warbling with malicious laughter. "We've heard that you've been ill. I do hope you're feeling better."

He wondered how she knew it was he. As the dizziness eased, he realized that there was no one else in the room aside from Bellatrix and the Dark Lord.

He bowed low towards the Dark Lord. A sense of unease not quite related to his current list of physical ailments began to fill him. "My Lord," he said with proper reverence and fear, genuinely unsure as to what was in store for him.

"Bellatrix, leave us," the Dark Lord said, his voice a hiss in the dark. There was a pause in Bellatrix's laugh that was long and cool. A moment later, Severus heard Bellatrix's stomping retreat across the room. He could smell her faint perfume as she skirted around his bowing form. The door behind him opened with a hushed word and closed with another.

Severus's eyes stayed on the floor the entire time. It was a parquet floor, the wood of which shone almost red in the firelight from the hearth to his left.

He began to count the seconds he stood there, bowing at the waist and exposing, as it were, his neck to the Dark Lord. He heard the Dark Lord rise from his chair and walk towards him.

"Rise, Severus, and remove your mask," the Dark Lord finally commanded. Severus did so, his movements controlled and precise. "I would hate to aggravate your illness further." There was a smile on the slit that masqueraded as the Dark Lord's mouth as he said this.

"I assure you, my Lord, that I am not as ill as reports make me out to be," Severus said coolly, his eyes slowly rising to meet the Dark Lord's.

"I've also been told that you've been attempting to assist Draco Malfoy in his task," the Dark Lord said with a voice that almost made the matter seem insignificant. His red, slitted eyes stared directly into Severus's black ones. Severus, familiar as he was with the Dark Lord's Legilimency, adjusted to the assault accordingly.

"I merely wish to help him succeed, my Lord," Severus said frankly.

"So it is not for glory? Or for honor?" the Dark Lord asked even as a small bead of sweat began to form on Severus's brow, just along the hairline. The effort it took to keep the Dark Lord suitably uninformed on certain facts was costing him more than it would have were he at full health.

"What greater glory is there than to serve you, my Lord," Severus answered, his voice full of quiet conviction. "And what greater honor?" Bellatrix had her zealous devotion, and Lucius his arrogant obsequiousness, at least before his fall from grace the summer before. Severus, however, was always quietly passionate in his loyalty to his Lord, and was always confident in the cause and in their leader.

At least, this was how he had always portrayed himself, and how he would continue to do so.

The corner of the slit that was the Dark Lord's mouth turned upwards in amusement. "Oh, you always were a sly one, Severus," he said, finally breaking eye contact. "You need not lie to me. I've always known how ambitious you are." Severus bit in the sigh of relief as the Dark Lord moved silently towards the bay windows to Severus's right.

"And while your ambition and your loyalty has always been useful, I do not wish for you to aid him," the Dark Lord said, his voice losing the amused tone. "These are his tasks, and his alone."

 _These_? Severus's mind scrambled to make sense of the word. He wasn't aware that the boy was given something else to do. What other impossible task had the Dark Lord ask the young Mr Malfoy to undertake?

"When he succeeds, for I am confident he will, then your support shall be expected," the Dark Lord said. "As for now, you have your own tasks to complete." He turned his pale, flat-nosed face back towards Severus. "Or am I wrong?"

"You are not, my Lord," Severus said promptly. After giving his own report on the Headmaster's condition and the movement of the Order, he was free to return to Hogwarts, unharmed and more than a bit exhausted from the experience.


	6. Chapter 6

It was around the month of April that Severus began to believe in the impossible.

The month had started as the last one ended. The girdle he had ordered from a discreet clothier was doing a fine job in making the unbecoming, completely abnormal bump unnoticeable, even as the abnormality seemed to grow further. The cramps also seemed to be growing more and more painful, and while the nausea was almost gone, only making an appearance once every other day, the fatigue hadn't.

If only all these physical problems would disappear, so that he could focus on everything else that was happening all around him, or rather _to_ him.

He rested for a moment against the edge of his desk as he set the fifth year Gryffindors into pairs to practice defensive magic. The morning had not started well. His breakfast was a mere piece of toast and several cups of spicy, chocolate-laced coffee. He could not explain why he had wanted to drink the odd concoction in the first place, but he was regretting the decision now. The bit of nausea it had induced was making him a bit lightheaded and queasy.

Taking a deep breath that strained at the girdle and did nothing for the nausea, he reluctantly got back to his feet. He began his rounds among the students once more, wand in hand, keeping an eye out for anything dangerous. The students were doing well for Gryffindors: well enough, but with no finesse and too much brashness.

As he helped one of the thickheaded children understand just how he was supposed to cast the appropriate spell, a sudden sense of danger filled him. He felt more than saw the way the hex cast by Miss Weasley bounced off the elder Mr Creevey's shield in an unexpected arch. He turned towards it, his wand out and ready, but for the first time in a long time, he was too slow. It hit him square in the abdomen just as he cast a shield against it. With a cry of true, unexpected pain, Severus was down.

The Gryffindors stopped their practice in surprise. One of the girls cried out in panic. Another of the children was shouting at someone to go and find a teacher, anyone. Their voices washed over him as he curled into himself, clutching his abdomen and gritting his teeth against the pain.

There were no words that could properly explain how much Miss Weasley's hex had hurt him. The best way was through simile: it was like a thousand knives, red-hot and terrifyingly sharp, stabbing into every nerve in his center. It was like an unexpected vice, twisting and shredding his bowels without mercy. There were hands on his shoulders, trying to roll him onto his back, but he could not uncurl from the intense pain. There was a woman calling his name, but he couldn't respond without groaning in agony.

He refused to groan in agony, yet his voice whimpered in spite of his pride. He wasn't blacking out from the pain. Oh, why wasn't he blacking out?

He rode the pain and barely marked the fact that he was being moved to the Hospital Wing.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus did not understand.

"I," he said, hoping repetition would help make sense of Madam Pomfrey's words, "am pregnant?"

"You _were_ pregnant," Madam Pomfrey corrected him. "Miss Weasley's hex combined with that girdle you were wearing terminated it." She fussed over him for a moment, adjusting the blankets that had been draped over his form. "It will probably take until tomorrow for your body to expel it all out, but it shouldn't be too painful."

Severus blinked wearily at the information. His mind was too drugged to connect all the facts quickly enough. Pregnant. "How…?" he began to say, but as the word left his lips, he recalled how. Or, rather, he recalled the most likely event that had caused such an unnatural condition. He should have known that night would lead to something worse. It involved a Potter; of course it would lead to something worse for him.

"Well, it's not like this is a natural condition. There has only been a few dozen recorded incidents concerning male pregnancy," Madam Pomfrey said as she examined a phial on the bedside table. The potion inside was pale green in the early afternoon light. "And they were all so unique that I wouldn't be surprised that your pregnancy was a one-of-a-kind affair as well." She shook the potion phial before settling it back down on the table. She looked up and noticed Severus's incredulous expression. "I was obsessed with unusual conditions when I was younger," she explained with a faint, nostalgic smile. Her eyes misted over in a way Severus had never seen before, but the matron soon found her composure and a more professional look returned to her face. "Do you have an idea as to how _your_ pregnancy became possible?"

Aside from his theory on Potter's inherited ability to ruin his life at every turn… no, he did not. He said as much to Madam Pomfrey, only without mentioning his personal theory. He relaxed into the bedsprings, noting how mellow he felt from the potions Madam Pomfrey had given him when he was first brought to the Hospital Wing. Any moment now, the Headmaster would appear, demanding answers in his own gentle, old man way and he wouldn't let Severus postpone that conversation for too long.

First, Severus needed to understand how it had happened on his own. He still wasn't sure as to how it could have occurred in the first place.

He sighed, convinced that he was born to suffer.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey left his bedside, the Headmaster walked in through the curtains that were sheltering Severus from the curious and the malicious. His glittering, colorful robes brightened the plain, white space in such a jarring fashion Severus was more than thankful that his blood was saturated with pain-relievers. There was the usual look of concern on the Headmaster's face as he took the seat by the bed. Severus weakly sat up and rested his back against the headboard.

"I heard that you had some trouble during class," Dumbledore said as he offered a sweet. Severus declined. "Though, I should be thankful. If it wasn't for Miss Weasley's misdirected hex, things would have only been that much more difficult for us." The Headmaster pulled out his wand from the folds of his sleeves and, with a light tap and a whisk, created a bubble of privacy that encompassed the curtained-off space.

Severus only nodded at the Headmaster's words, his own thoughts disconnected and unable to focus. He should be setting up a proper defense against a possible assault from Dumbledore. At the same time, however, he was trying to analyze that night in hopes of finding the one unusual item out of several unusual items that could have led to this pregnancy.

"Can you explain to me how this happened, Severus?" the Headmaster said, peering at him from over the rims of his half-moon glasses, the blue eyes piercing but no attack followed. Severus did not soften his defenses, weak as they were.

"I had sex, Headmaster," Severus said bluntly. "I do not wish to think of any other way this could have happened."

"Where did this happen, Severus?" the Headmaster asked. "And with whom?"

"I…" For a moment, Severus was speechless, unwilling to tell anyone, even Dumbledore, what had happened, but he composed himself accordingly. "It was at Hogwarts, Headmaster," he admitted, knowing as he said it that he had signaled for the end of both his career and the man's trust.

The Headmaster, on the other hand, did not seem as perturbed by the location or the implications as Severus was certain he should have been. "Where in Hogwarts, Severus?" the Headmaster said, his voice gentle, though there was a strain of impatience. Severus stared at him as a cold worry filled his insides.

"Does it actually matter?" Severus said, his potion-induced calm fading.

The Headmaster adjusted and settled further into his chair. "There is a room, Severus," he began, "on the third floor near Ravenclaw Tower that is always kept locked due to the kind of magic inside it. The sort of magic that ensures procreation." Severus stared at the Headmaster, his jaw loosening and dropping as the Headmaster continued. "According to Laverne de Montmorency, I'm certain you are more than familiar with that name, the magic was latent in the room from the start, something that other researchers seem to agree upon." A look of disgust and confusion twisted Severus's face, especially at the mention of de Montmorency, but he did not comment.

"It isolates and brings to the forefront certain emotions," Dumbledore continued. "My personal theory is that, because of the size of the room, so many of Hogwarts' own had used the room for romantic trysts that it focused the magic to interact with one specific emotion, helping it grow in both power and potency." The old man shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly. "Of course, this magic, combined with the potential of young witches and wizards, is dangerous. It was finally locked and disillusioned when a seventh year boy became with child in the 1800's, bringing attention to what the room can do. Unfortunately, I believe that this is what had happened to you."

Severus was speechless. The Headmaster pulled out a handful of something from an inner pocket of his robes. "After I was informed of your condition from Poppy, I went to that room and found not only was the door visible and unlocked, but this." He opened his fist, showing Severus a few stray black buttons and a torn strip of black fabric. "I believe you are familiar with these?" the Headmaster said.

"Yes, Headmaster," Severus said, recognized the missing pieces from the pair of trousers he had worn that night. He had not been in the mood then to make sure he had gathered everything. He should have realized that just altering the mind of the other participant would not make the incident disappear. He had returned to the room the next day, to check and make certain it was the same as he had found it, but he could not find the door.

To his current regret, he did not attempt to use all his skills to find the room once more. At the time, however, he was almost relieved when the room had become hidden to him. It made it all the more simple to forget all that had occurred that night, turning it into nothing less than a fever dream, destined to be forgotten.

He stared at the damning evidence of his own folly as the Headmaster placed them by Severus's thigh. "Now, Severus," the Headmaster said as he moved his hand away from the buttons and scrap of fabric. "While I am now quite assured as to the place, and perhaps the circumstances, I still need to know more before I have a full understanding." The Headmaster's eyes were soft and pleading. "Please, Severus. Tell me what happened."

Severus took one of the small, black buttons in his hand. They were plain, cloth-covered wooden buttons, the sort that were considered rather old-fashioned to Muggles. They were no larger than the nail of his smallest finger, but they had done their job of keeping the front of his trousers closed quite well, right up to the night that Potter had gotten his hands on them.

Potter…

Severus rolled the small button in his hands. "What's to tell?" he said, feigning disinterest. "If it's as you say, that room was the cause of it. What more can I add to that?"

"Severus," the Headmaster said in a low voice, the very word filled with unspoken reprimands. Severus looked up from the button in his hands. There was the hint of their last argument in the old man's eyes. He looked back down at the small, homeless button in his hands. He did not want to discuss _that_ disagreement as well.

"At least, tell me the name of the other father," the Headmaster said. He sounded very much like a hurt old man. Severus did not want to see the expression that accompanied those words.

"I don't recall," Severus said. "And neither does he," he added in a softer voice still.

"Severus," the Headmaster said, a touch of anger entering his voice.

"Please, Albus," Severus said, his voice nearly breaking. He hoped that the Headmaster was astute enough to understand that Severus was not just asking for a pause in the old man's questions. He clenched tightly around the button in his hand.

The Headmaster sighed from his seat by the bed. "I understand. This… situation is difficult enough as it is and you have much to think about without an old man like myself unintentionally making it worse." He groaned slightly as he rose to his feet. "Understand, Severus, that I still wish to learn more about this event, but if you do not wish to speak of it, I will press no further." Severus could almost see in his mind's eye the sort of smile the Headmaster was giving him, that grandfatherly smile he always used to pacify. "I shall stop by and visit with you again in the evening after dinner. That is, if you will allow me."

"Of course, Headmaster," Severus said as the Headmaster patted Severus's shoulder once, twice. Severus did not want to look up from behind his veil of black hair. The old man waved his pale wand, dispensing with the privacy bubble.

"I hope you take the time and rest, Severus. I'm certain your students would be greatly disappointed if you're not back to your cheerful self soon." Severus outright scowled at the Headmaster, who had the gall to chuckle. "Poppy, you'll take good care of Severus for us, won't you?" he called out to the mediwitch.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey said as she escorted the Headmaster out of the Wing. Their voices trailed off as they moved away from the cloistered bedside. Severus paid them no heed.

He rolled the button between his fingers. He wondered if there was a chance he would be able to keep the most important part of the tale to himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Miss Weasley, either at the behest of her Head of House or of her own volition, though Severus was inclined to believe the former, appeared in the Hospital Wing just after her last class of the day. Trailing behind her were the elder Mr Creevey and, unexpectedly, Mr Thomas, who looked as if he had lost his way and arrived there by mere chance.

He allowed the visitors to visit his bedside after much consideration, and only after Madam Pomfrey assured him that the cause of his hospitalization was not immediately visible. He would have preferred seeing those three turn right around and go back to their Tower, leaving him be for once in their lives. Nevertheless, he was curious. He watched coolly as Madam Pomfrey guided them to his bedside while admonishing them before they've had the chance to do anything wrong.

Sometimes, he was quite fond of Madam Pomfrey.

"We came to apologize for what happened, Professor," Miss Weasley said with surprisingly proper manners. It was quite unfortunate that some of her siblings did not possess the same decorum. "We, um…" she continued, lowering Severus's opinion of her just as quickly as it had risen. She might have the manners, but she had also inherited her brother Ronald's common way with words. "We wanted to see if you were alright."

"I assure you, Miss Weasley, that it would take a lot more than a little hex from you to take me down," he said smoothly.

"Really, sir?" Mr Creevey said, his mouth falling into that most unflattering agape expression common to, forgive the redundancy, Gryffindors and fools. "Because Ginny's hex—ow," he whimpered in protest as Miss Weasley wisely jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

Severus watched the boy rub his bruised side. His eyebrow quirked up as the boy fidgeted underneath his gaze. "Yes," he finally said in response. "Quite." He smoothed the blankets covering his 'condition' self-consciously, his eyes still on the three Gryffindors. He stiffened his back against the headboard a bit further and composed himself as a tsar would on his throne. "Well," he said," now that you have said your peace, you are free to go. And Mr Thomas," he added just as the older boy turned to leave, "do remind your classmates that the fact that I am in hospital does not excuse them from turning in the assignment due tomorrow."

"Yes, Professor," Mr Thomas said with a scowl before stepping out and through the white curtains. Gryffindors and their complete lack of respect…

"I hope you feel better, sir," Mr Creevey said before following Mr Thomas out. Severus doubted the boy meant the sentiment.

"Miss Weasley," he said just as she, too, turned to join her housemates out of the Hospital Wing. She turned back and looked at him with more than a spark of suspicion. "Make sure to tell Professor McGonagall you've fulfilled your duty. I would loath to have you visit me a second time when once is more than adequate.

"Professor McGonagall didn't send me to see you, Professor," she said. His eyebrows rose discreetly at the words. He wasn't sure if he was pleased by the surprise or disappointed that he was wrong. After a brief thought, he decided that her actions ran true with the typical qualities of her House and left it at that.

"I see," he said. "Also," he started to say, but the words died on his lips, unsure as to what else he could say to the girl. A blessing, a curse, the situation was too fresh, too new for him to understand which the girl deserved more. A small, foolish part of him wished to send her on an errand, to bring forth the one person that he, for the most part, did not want to see.

The girl was still at the opening, waiting. "Give my regards to your parents," Severus continued in what he hoped wasn't an utterly unconvincing manner.

She looked at him for a long moment, trying, no doubt, to comprehend the reason behind the request. He could only guess at the sort of nefarious thoughts she was attributing to him. The moment passed, however, and she nodded once before turning to go once more.

He did not stop her a second time.


	9. An Interlude

By dinner, the whole school knew of what happened during Ginny's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Most of the school seemed to be in high spirits, Gryffindor especially so. The mere thought of their most-hated professor slain, or at the very least incapacitated, by a simple hex filled them with glee. Already, there were several glory-seeking imitators planning their own "accidental" attack on Professor Snape, bolstered by the idea that he was only human. The Slytherins, however, were not sharing in the celebratory mood. On the contrary, the lot was glaring daggers at every single person that was gloating over Professor's Snape's misfortune.

Some of those glares turned downright murderous as Ginny settled into her seat at the Gryffindor table, her fellow Housemates congratulating her on her good aim in loud, jubilant voices. It was without question that Ron was the loudest in his praise, declaring his sister the greatest Gryffindor of all. She didn't look particularly pleased with the adulation.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked once she got a good look at Ginny's face. There was a somewhat pinched look to it that didn't echo the excitement around her.

Ginny looked up at Hermione. She took in a breath before answering. "I went to the Hospital Wing just now see how Professor Snape was," Ginny said. Hermione's face turned a bit quizzical. "He looked horrible."

At Hermione's side, Ron was too shocked by the statement. His expression fell from vicariously victorious to simply flabbergasted. "Ginny," he said, the one word softening from euphoria to something more logical. "This is _Snape_ that we're talking about. He always looks terrible," he said, surprised that his sister didn't seem to understand what should have been a basic truth. "Right, Harry?" He nudged Harry with his elbow.

Unlike the rest of Gryffindor, however, Harry looked about as pleased with Snape's misfortune as the Slytherins did. His eyes were focused on the table and his jaw was jutting out in a foul manner. He was deep in thought and looked two words away from a spectacular explosion of paranoia and suspicion. He did not reply.

Ron, however, did not see the mood Harry was in. He was too distracted by Ginny's statement. "You're not feeling sorry for the greasy git, are you?" he said.

"I meant worse than usual," Ginny said, trying to explain. "Like that hex nearly killed him."

"What kind of hex did you use?" Hermione asked. "Everyone kept saying different things."

"Just a twisting hex," Ginny said. "You know the kind. It's only supposed to pinch the muscles a little, but the way he was screaming when he got hit with it…" Her voice trailed off with a shake of her head. "I was trying to take down Colin's shield, so maybe it was pretty strong, but…" Her voice died away.

"Well," Ron said after a lull, "good thing the old git got careless for once." A large grin broke on his face. "We don't have to turn in our essays tomorrow."

"Actually," Ginny said, "he told Dean that they're still due."

Distressed, Ron turned to Dean, who was sitting next to Ginny with a sour look on his face.

"It's true," Dean said with a glower.

"Well, you don't expect him to give us an extension just because he's been injured," Hermione said reasonably. "He'll probably be back on his feet and in class tomorrow."

Ron sighed. "I don't think I even finished mine. How about you, Harry?"

Harry, however, was too wrapped up in his thoughts to pay attention to the conversation. Unlike the others, he had noticed certain things, or, to be more specific, certain people. For one, he had noticed how Malfoy was doing underneath all the stress that he was under. The boy was looking paler and pointier by the day.

Snape, too, had been looking more and more ill since the New Year. Harry had noticed the way the man's face sometimes went green during class and how little he had been eating during meals. He had caught the man wince in pain when he thought no one was watching, pressing a soothing hand on his stomach. The man also seemed to take more breathers during class than he did before Christmas. Harry was surprised that no one else had noticed as well.

Even if Harry hadn't been paying close attention and hadn't noticed the professor's declining health, he knew Snape. The professor must have been feeling less like himself than usual if he allowed himself to be hexed in his own classroom. Harry couldn't think of a single time the man had lowered his defenses enough to be caught off-guard by anything.

Harry only made noncommittal noises throughout the rest of dinner, his mind preoccupied with clandestine plans and thoughts of Snape. So focused was he on this that he did not notice Draco Malfoy leave the Great Hall before the rest of his House.


	10. Chapter 10

Evening came slowly in the Hospital Wing. Students came and went, each either deflected or treated by Madam Pomfrey, who did a marvelous job of not allowing the unwanted interlopers to draw close to Severus's bedside. He desired no unnecessary visitors, and Madam Pomfrey understood, keeping the merely curious away.

Yet, as the lamps were lit by invisible hands, and the spring afternoon turned into spring night, Severus became restless. He yearned to return to his rooms, to be among his possessions, instead of being forced to entertain himself with some buttons and a bit of idle wand-waving.

By the dinner bell, he was ready to climb the walls in frustration.

"I am not hungry," he said evenly as Madam Pomfrey placed a tray before him. The kitchens had sent up a bowl of oxtail soup for him, with some brown bread and a pot of tea for company. The tantalizing, seductive scents of the meal did not appeal to him at all.

"Nonsense," the matron said as she fussed over him. "You're going to need your strength. This pregnancy has taken a lot out of you."

Severus frowned at her statement. "I am sure that you hold that word in great esteem," he said, "but would you mind not uttering it at every opportunity? Someone could hear you prattle about."

The matron paused for a moment. "You may be right," Madam Pomfrey said with a glint in her eyes. "But there is no one else here, and apparently, I know something that you don't know, Professor." She looked downright smug as she said that. "Not once, in all these years, has someone been capable of sneaking into the Wing undetected. It's practically impossible. But," she teased, "the impossible has happened before." She gave Severus a pointed, knowing look.

He scowled back.

Madam Pomfrey tilted her head to the side and her eyes softened with something Severus would not stand for on any day: pity. His mind began to generate and reassess his plans of escaping this cloistered space before dawn.

"Don't worry," she said with an unsolicited pat on the shin. "Your secret's safe with me." Her facial expression twitched unexpectedly then, as if a stray thought had inconveniently caught her attention. She straightened and began to hurry away from his bedside. "Now eat," she said. "I'll be back in a while."

Severus watched her go. He listened to the staccato taps of her shoes on the floor and the rustling of her skirts as she rushed off towards the entrance of the Wing. He could just make out her muttering before that, too, faded away.

As the sounds faded away, Severus let out a long hiss of a sigh. He looked down at the food set before him. He stared at it, taking in the color of the soup, the texture of the bread. The sight of it turned his stomach. He could not find it in him to take up the spoon by the bowl.

Outside the white curtains, someone was speaking to Madam Pomfrey in a familiar, insolent matter. It could only have been a student, speaking in that low, urgent voice, but it was difficult for Severus to place a name or a face to the sound. Even as the voice drew closer, it sounded garbled and insignificant.

"Well, I am sorry, Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said in a clear, authoritative tone, "but now is not the time to visit Professor Snape. And shouldn't you be in the Great Hall right now?"

"I finished dinner early," the young Mr Malfoy said, the quality of his voice unchanged by recognition. "I need to speak with him, now."

"Whatever it is you wish to say to him will have to wait until the morning," she said, "Now, if there is nothing wrong with you, then you'll just have to go."

"Why can't I see him?" young Mr Malfoy protested, his voice rising in volume.

"Professor Snape is resting, Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said, hard and unyielding, "and I cannot have anyone disturbing--Mr Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey cried out.

Severus heard the thudding sound of soft-soled feet running towards him. He could almost imagine how young Mr Malfoy had feinted past the matron to reach Severus's bedside.

Severus instinctively schooled his features. He glanced down to make sure the sign of his affliction was hidden from sight. He was relieved to see that, however unwanted the tray of food was, it did a marvelous job of keeping the unsightly bump out of view.

He looked up and watched young Mr Malfoy wrestle his way through the white curtains as quickly as he could, nearly getting himself tangled along the way. Just beyond, Severus could hear Madam Pomfrey gaining fast.

Severus gave the boy a level stare. "Mr Malfoy," he said in a voice that would not stand for any more foolishness.

Young Mr Malfoy's expression was blank before a brittle facsimile of his father's arrogance took over. "Professor," he said.

"Are you sure you wish to speak to me, Mr Malfoy?" Severus said, his voice as smooth as silk, even as a leaden feeling filled his veins at the mere sight of the boy. "Surely your… father would be disappointed by this careless display," he said softly, in warning, as Madam Pomfrey slipped through the curtains and gripped young Mr Malfoy's shoulder tightly. Severus watched with no small satisfaction as the boy's face blanched at the unspoken words. A part of him crowed at the sight.

Madam Pomfrey began to pull the boy back through the curtains. "It's time for you to go, Mr Malfoy," she said. "Let's leave the professor to enjoy his dinner." The boy numbly followed her lead.

"Mr Malfoy?" Severus called out just before the boy went through completely. Young Mr Malfoy straightened slightly from underneath Madam Pomfrey's grip and chanced a glance at his professor. "I will speak to you tomorrow about your actions tonight," he said.

The young Mr Malfoy's jaw tightened stubbornly. "Yes, Professor," he said quietly. He turned and stepped through the curtains completely. Madam Pomfrey harrumphed to herself as she followed young Mr Malfoy out, intending to make sure he left in a prompt and uninterrupted manner.

Severus's eyelids slid almost shut and an unexpected tension left him as the sound of their footsteps died away. Young Mr Malfoy's appearance reminded Severus that the situation might indeed worsen for him, once certain parties were informed. Yes, Severus had an idea as to how the events today could undermine his authority in the classroom. And yet, who knew what would befall him once others began to hear rumors of what had occurred. That he had been brought down by a mere schoolgirl, and a child of a blood traitor no less, was bound to bring him difficulties. He felt a chill rush up his arms at the possible repercussions.

He pushed the tray aside, knowing he was not going to eat any time soon. He pulled out his wand and held it close, a talisman against what new misfortune would come his way.


	11. Chapter 11

"So," the Headmaster said from the chair by Severus's bed, "it was a student."

"Yes, Headmaster," Severus said as he came to a slow, thoughtful stop by the window. "It was."

On the bed between them was a tea service the Headmaster had conjured up. The edges of the cups and the saucers were adorned in gold and celestial blue, while the teapot was a star with the face and the general shape of a particularly creepy toddler. Severus's cup was on the tray, untouched.

Severus turned slowly on his heel and took a few purposeful steps to the foot of the bed. The soft fabric slippers he wore scraped faintly against the cold stone floor.

The Headmaster poured himself another cup of tea from the chubby, disturbingly adorable star teapot, which giggled and gurgled as it was tipped over. He spooned out an obscene amount of sugar from an equally disturbing comet-shaped bowl and stirred the concoction with a gilt-edged spoon. "And," he said as he placed the spoon on his saucer, "you Obliviated him."

Severus stopped in his careful tracks, just at the edge of the Headmaster's privacy bubble, and turned his back towards the bed. He clasped his hands behind his back in a precise manner. "I did what I believed was right," he said crisply. "What had resulted from that night only validates my decision."

The Headmaster drank his sweetened tea quietly. The china cup made a soft click as it came to rest on the saucer. "And that is why you will not tell me his name?" he said, that old, familiar admonition in his voice.

Severus kept his head high, his shoulders straight. He smoothed and tugged at the Hospital-issued sleepwear, uncomfortable in the light cloth. "I do not think it would be wise to inform others when he still knows nothing," he said, his eyes on the folding curtains.

The Headmaster drank some more of his tea. "Have you considered," he said, his lips smacking lightly against each other, "speaking to the boy about all this?" Severus shot him a dark look before stoically making his way back towards the window. "Not immediately, of course," the Headmaster conceded, "but, perhaps, in a few years? After this dark time finally passes?"

An impotent rage flickered inside Severus's breast at the possibility the Headmaster had painted so simply. _In a few years?_ His life was already forfeit, tied down to the altar by the will of both the Headmaster and the Dark Lord. There was very little hope in his heart that he would live to see that promised dawn. And the boy… he who was just as destined, just as doomed…

"Perhaps then, the two of you can come to some sort of… understanding?" the Headmaster said. "If both of you still feel the same way."

He let out a soft, controlled breath, blanketing his feelings with an aloofness the Headmaster must not be allowed to penetrate. He looked out the window and saw only the darkness of night. "I see no need to come to an _understanding_ with him," he said stiffly.

The Headmaster took one last sip of his sweet tea. "Later tonight, I will send down what information I have concerning the room at the heart of this matter," he said. "I hope you will go over it, if only to gain some meaning out of all this."

"Meaning?" Severus said, turning his head towards the Headmaster. "What sort of 'meaning' is there to find?"

The Headmaster placed his saucer and cup on the tray. "Only you can say what meaning it would yield for you, Severus," he said. The old man rose, shaking his sleeve over his withered hand as he did so. He raised his wand and with a flick, the tea service disappeared altogether. "Am I right to assume you're going back to your rooms tonight?" he said.

"Yes, Headmaster," Severus said, turning his eyes back to the window. In the darkness, he could barely make out the shape of the Forbidden Forest against the cloud-covered sky. There were no stars that night to guide his way.


	12. Chapter 12

The fire in the lantern crackled shyly as Severus dressed himself with abstracted precision. His fingers knew their work well, guiding each button and fold into their proper places. His thoughts, however, were on other matters beyond buttons and layers. They had not changed since Madam Pomfrey's declaration on his physical state, for the more he thought of the repercussions of that one encounter in the dark, the more he fretted over his plans to contain the inevitable effects. As his plans fermented in his mind, a mantra began to form, five simple words that flowed through his thoughts at every unguarded moment for it was, if nothing else, his one true priority.

_The boy must never know._

He ran a hand over his robes one last time and extinguished the lantern on the bedside table. He left the sequestered bedside with care, mindful of the bed and the folding curtains in the near-darkness. The hard soles of his shoes tapped against the stone in a slow, self-assured fashion as he made his way to the matron's office. There, just leaving her office, was Madam Pomfrey, carrying with her a covered willow basket, dyed black, and her own lantern lit and held aloft.

He took the basket from her, raising an eyebrow at the definite weight of the thing. He wondered for a moment at what sort of message the matron was trying to convey to him before completely slipping the handle over his other arm and letting it rest in the crook of his elbow.

"Should I be wary of letting you take the child with you, Severus?" the matron said as she held the lantern out and away with one hand. There was a softness to her expression as the sole light in the entire Hospital Wing flickered strongly on her face.

"No more so than is dictated by your nature, I assure you," Severus said softly. He lifted the black cloth covering the basket and saw a lump wrapped in white cloth inside. He replaced the black cloth with some satisfaction. "If you will excuse me," he said with a slight bow towards the matron before heading toward the double doors in a sedate fashion. The basket hanging from his elbow swung in an equally dignified manner with each audible step. Madam Pomfrey's skirts rustled behind him.

He was more than halfway down that long center aisle when the torches lining the walls of the Wing, long since extinguished in deference to the late hour, suddenly flared up with fresh flame, bathing the Hospital Wing with light. Momentarily blinded, Severus reared back, instinctively drawing his wand while placing the basket as much behind him as possible.

He heard more than saw Madam Pomfrey, her wand drawn, rush pass him towards the double doors. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice a bright vessel of worry that was being quickly dimmed with anger. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he saw that the one of the double doors have been opened, but, aside from Madam Pomfrey, there was no one there.

A cold fear filled Severus. There were all sorts of fools at Hogwarts that would try to enter the Hospital Wing at this late hour, not the least of which for the sole act of creating mischief. There was only one, however, that could do so without being seen, and it was this one person Severus was most reluctant to see, and most fearful.

"Potter," he whispered to himself, his jaw tightening at the thought as his fear slowly turned into anger. He hurried in his steps towards the matron, casting a quick spell towards his feet and another at the basket as he did so.

Madam Pomfrey stepped out into the corridor glancing up and down the length of it for the culprit. The torches there were lit as well, but aside from a few startled portraits, there was nothing and no one to see. "I think whoever was just here ran," she said with a frown, her brow furrowing. She lowered her wand slightly and retreated back to the double doors, her skirts billowing slightly as she turned.

"How unfortunate," Severus said as he peered out into the brightened hall. "Perhaps, if I'm fortunate, I'll run into whoever it was on my way to my quarters." He sneered with no humor at the thought before schooling his features. He stepped through the double doors and nodded his head towards the matron. "Goodnight, Poppy."

"Goodnight, Severus," the matron said. He was nearly at the stairs when the doors to the Hospital Wing closed behind him, the sound almost thunderous in the dead of the night.

He walked through the corridors, wand high, in a deliberately aimless matter. He cast a _Lumos_ to silently light his way. The soles of his shoes were no more audible than a shadow against the stone. As his fear folded itself into anger, he _listened_ as much as his sense of hearing allowed.

There was a chance that he was wrong, but as he began to hear a peculiar scraping of fabric and the soft sound of rubber sole against stone, he knew his first assumption was the correct one. His lips twisted upwards in triumph.

He continued walking down the corridors, seemingly in no hurry to return to his own quarters. His invisible shadow followed behind, close enough to be heard, but not nearly enough to grab. He would have him soon enough.

As he crossed the tapestry depicting Gladys the Incontinent on the first floor, he came to a slow stop, as if uncertain of a peculiar shadow up ahead. There was a slight sound from his shadow, perhaps from moving slightly back in caution. Still facing forward, Severus made his move, flicking his wand in the appropriate gesture to silently summon one particular Invisibility Cloak to his outstretched hand.

There was a gasp and a bit of struggle, but no sooner did he cast the spell did he turn, catching the Summoned Cloak in his hand. And there, revealed like the rabbit in a cheap Muggle trick, was Harry Potter. Even in the dim light of his _Lumos_ , Severus would have known the shameless fool anywhere.

He draped the Cloak over his arm, covering the charmed basket with it. A dark, nasty mood thrummed through his thoughts with each silenced step towards the boy, and it did not care that there was one secret Severus must keep.

_The boy must never know._


	13. A Second Interlude

Snape was striding towards him, his black robes nearly invisible in the darkness, Harry's own Invisibility Cloak draped casually over his arm. His footfalls were silent and his face, ghost-white from illness and injury, was a ghoulish apparition in the wandlight. Harry was alone in a darkened corridor with the fully trained, vindictive wizard, and a lesser person, or perhaps a saner one, would have been frightened out of his wits as the man drew closer.

If he were honest with himself, Harry would have admitted he, too, was scared. It was foolish of him to deliberately follow Snape, and, judging from the look on Snape's face, he might not make it out of this with all his limbs intact. He knew something was wrong with the man, however, and the brief glimpse he got in the Hospital Wing just before retreating from Madam Pomfrey was not enough to assuage his suspicions. He wasn't even sure if what had happened to Snape had anything to do with himself or Voldemort, but Harry was not going to rest until he got to the bottom of this mystery. He certainly didn't trust the man enough to leave this inconsistency in Snape's behavior go without investigation.

What fear Harry felt had already been channeled into something more manageable and not nearly as useless against Snape. His teeth were not quite grinding and his breathing quickened as Snape stopped less than an arm's length away. The light of Snape's _Lumos_ was harsh to Harry's eyes.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for breaking curfew," Snape said, his voice cool and measured. His black eyes were sharp. "Now, explain yourself, and pray I don't take more."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said defiantly, staring dead into Snape's eyes. This was a bad move against a Legilimens. That fact, however, only made it that much harder to back down.

"Why were you following me?" Snape snapped, the spittle barely staying behind his crooked teeth.

"What does it matter to you?" Harry said without thinking, his own words harsh and his ire growing.

"What does--," Snape sputtered, growing more vexed as well. "Do you think it's _not_ my concern when a student is out and about in the middle of the night, intent on wreaking havoc?" he said, his voice rising in both volume and rancor.

"I'm not 'wreaking havoc'!" Harry said, his own voice nearly a roar.

"Then why were you following me?" Snape repeated with a shout.

"I was worried," Harry yelled, the meaning of the words changing from what Harry intended as they dashed out of his mouth.

Snape's eyes narrowed and he stared at Harry for a long moment before his whole face lengthened into a snide, patronizing look. "You were worried," Snape said, his voice a murmured echo of what it was moments before. " _You_ left your bed in the middle of the night to stalk me because you were _worried_." His eyelids half-closed as his mouth twisted unfavorably. His free hand came up to his breast, the Invisibility Cloak making part of his side disappear. "I'm touched by your concern."

"It isn't like that," Harry said, his feet itching to take a step back even as part of him wanted to provoke Snape further.

"Well, we don't seem to be understanding each other tonight," Snape said silkily. He was much closer now than he was earlier, and that itch was turning downright torturous. Snape's eyelashes lowered further, giving his jagged words a falsely solicitous sting. "So, please, explain. What exactly is 'it' like?" he said, each measured word punctuated with contempt.

Harry breathed in the acrid, dusty scent of Snape's robes, and it dizzied him. His body, already full of adrenaline, was beginning to react in the worst possible way to just how close Snape was to him. His face flushed as he inexplicably got hard from the scent and the proximity alone. Frightened of the possibility of Snape feeling his growing erection, Harry took that step back. "You were hurt," he said, his voice harsh in its desperation. Even he could hear the need for distance, control, and perhaps some insight as to _why_ he was getting hard for Snape leaking into his voice. There was no reason for Snape to not have heard it as well.

"And you wanted to see for yourself?" Snape said immediately, taking a step forward, completely negating Harry's efforts. "Perhaps even add a bit of pain of your own?" Snape sneered as he took a hold of Harry's upper arm and pulled him closer still. "As if you haven't done enough," he said, his voice a hiss in the dark.

Harry angrily, fearfully tried to yank his arm out of Snape's grip, but Snape only pulled him forward in response, pressing them together from chest to knee. A thought whimpered through his mind in panic as the rest of his body shivered and groaned at the feel of a hard body, _Snape's_ hard, bony body, against his.

"Don't think for a moment," Snape said with a growl that slowed to a quiet, stunned stop as he felt just how Harry's body was aroused by Snape's presence. Harry's eyes were wide with fear and his mind was raving, desperate for any thought that could will his erection away. The contact with Snape's leg, however, only made it bolder and more foolhardy.

Snape's face slackened, first with shock and then with fear. He recoiled from Harry, shoving him as far away as possible. His face, already pale, turned ashen as he stumbled on his feet briefly, moving away. His hand grabbed the edge of the tapestry on the wall for support.

He quickly steadied himself and pointed his wand at Harry, the angle of it almost defensive. His hand was motionless and the light did not waver, though there was still a stricken look on the man's face. He stared at Harry with fear in his eyes even as he attempted to regain some of his composure.

Snape straightened completely, and, as Harry's body continued to shake, he was once more physically the imposing and unapproachable Potions Master. His hoarse voice, however, betrayed him as he croaked weakly, "Potter… you…"

"Who's over there?" a female voice called out from some distance behind Harry. He turned, startled, even as Snape's wandlight went out without a word. Quickly, Harry pulled out his holly wand and cast _Lumos_ , brightening the corridor anew.

Snape was gone. Harry peered down the corridor in disbelief before he remembered that the man still had his father's Invisibility Cloak.

" _Accio_ Invisibility Cloak," Harry hissed, pointing at the direction he was certain Snape was, but the trick Snape had pulled on him was not working. " _Accio_ Invisibility Cloak!" he hissed again, truly getting angry that Snape and the Cloak was not reappearing.

"Harry?" Tonks said from behind him, her wand drawn and her hair particularly mousy in the wandlight. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She stared at him before glancing behind him into the darkness. "Who were you talking to?" she asked suspiciously.

Harry's mouth opened and closed like a fish as he glanced about as well. "Nobody," he sputtered out nervously. "I was just… talking to myself. You know, airing out my thoughts?"

Tonks stared at him, and it was obvious that she did not believe him. "Well," she said with a slight frown, peering down the corridor once more before relenting, "let's make sure you get back to Gryffindor Tower in one piece." She led him toward the stairwell, her hand resting lightly against his shoulder-bone for a moment before withdrawing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins with talk about using human body parts in potions as Snape tries to view his deceased child as something other than his deceased child. If this bothers you, feel free to skip the first ten paragraphs or so.

There were several potions that called for the various parts of a human corpse. A few of these concoctions were best if the recently deceased had been of the magical persuasion; others worked just as well with slices of Muggle flesh. Those that called for parts from a human fetus were never nearly as picky; a child's magical ability rarely manifested itself in the cradle, much less in the womb.

Potions calling for human parts, however, fetal or otherwise, were still severely frowned upon by the general Wizarding community, despite the availability of potential ingredients. This, however, had not stopped Severus from learning all he could about these forbidden potions, back when he was younger and much more ambitious. Even now in his old age, few things had been able to stop Severus from learning something new.

He knew, for example, that the bones, if air-dried for a fortnight before cleaned with sand and later coconut milk, and then grounded to the consistency of fine sand, could be added to a known hallucinogenic for a stronger effect. The liver, if shredded with a sharp copper blade, was useful in a purifying solvent. The brain itself, if properly cured, was irreplaceable in a variety of potions, from communicable plagues to a peculiar hair restorer once popular with young women of a certain persuasion.

Severus murmured a recipe or two under his breath as he examined the remains of the child he had unknowingly carried for nearly four months. He turned the creature this way and that, examining each detail by the light of the lantern on his desk.

The tiny hands, translucent and frail in the light, were already stiff with death. Whole, they could be used in a leeching potion, so long as the tiny fists were stuffed with a mixture of salt and diced rose thorns. The fingers, on the other hand, could be boiled and sliced for a slow-acting poison that would have been very difficult to detect but very easy to neutralize.

Severus whispered his learning to this destroyed creation, this thing that could have been his child. Years of forbidden knowledge were running through his mind and falling from his lips like the blackest of pearls. He thought of and spoke of these hidden truths and theories, knowing that to do otherwise would be to remember. And Severus did not want to remember that this broken collection of bone and flesh in his hands was much more than just an unexpected addition to his personal stores.

He ran a finger down the center of the dead thing's face, a sliver of uncertainty filling his heart for a moment before he relentlessly pushed it aside. Why care about whose nose the child would have inherited, when the flesh that shaped it now was essential when making a mildly acidic shark repellent? Why wonder if the child's eyes would have been green or black, when testing Perón's theory of 'the unseeing eyes of a lost child' (poetic Spaniards be damned) in shape-shifting potions would be an intriguing way to pass the time?

He frowned at the creature, annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander so dangerously. He laid the remains on the black velvet spread out on his desk with a huff and began casting a succession of spells and charms on the body and accompanying placenta.

The charms he cast on the remains were old hat; he could not recall how many times he had spelled newly acquired materials against decay and contamination before he could use them in his work. The black velvet he would wrap the remains in, too, was designed to keep the corpse fresh and untainted.

He had never thought he would use this knowledge on such a thing as what was now on his desk, safely wrapped away in velvet.

On one side of this desk by the lantern was a small silver case, open and waiting. He pulled it close and lowered the wrapped remains into it, careful to not bump the delicate bundle against the edges as he did so.

The case, no larger or wider than an inexpensive cigarette case, was unadorned but for the tiny row of pinprick-sized keyholes along its side. The seven keyholes, as noticeable as a lump of coal in a pool of ink, were spread out along the edge, with an echoing set on the opposite side. Only the first chamber was as small as the case suggested; inside it was a handful of Mayfairs Severus smoked on occasion. He would be remiss if he did not admit he had smoked one to calm his nerves after his encounter with Potter.

The other six chambers, however, were vast canyons in comparison, filled with Severus' most precious and most secret possessions, canyons that were accessible only by blood. It would be in the seventh chamber of this unremarkable, slender case that Severus intended to hide away this secret failing.

He made certain the remains would stay secure against any shaking, his long fingers tucking the black velvet around the corpse one last time before pulling his hand away. Here, he was certain, it would be safe, and his shame, his anger, and his regret would stay secret with it.

He closed the thin metal case, making certain that each of the keyholes along the side of the case were locked. He slipped it into a pocket of his robes with only the most transitory feeling of satisfaction smoothing his brow.

His sense of satisfaction, however, faded away like smoke as his eyes fell on the Invisibility Cloak opposite him. He had draped it over the straight-back chair opposite his desk when he, still trembling from his encounter with Potter, had entered his office. His lips flattened in irritation. He had been truly frightened that the boy had remembered, but he had faith that the Memory Charm would not break. It could not break. He did not want to consider what would happen if Potter remembered now.

He had acted like an outright fool in that corridor, letting his control slip in Potter's presence and risking the chance of jogging Potter's memory. He still burned with anger at what the boy had put him through; the fact that the boy did not remember because of the Memory Charm _Severus_ had cast was not enough to absolve him.

His cheeks burned as he remembered the heat of the boy against him, unexpected and shameful. His eyes were so wide with panic when Severus pulled him close. Was he so desperate to have a repeat encounter with the boy? Wasn't one horrendous mistake enough, or was the dark, miserable masochist in him hungry for another go? No part of him desired to be on his knees on cold stone again, being dominated by the boy. Calloused hands holding his hips in a bruising grip, a hot mouth groaning and panting against his spine…

He adjusted his trousers, holding back a moan as the fabric rubbed against him in a not-unpleasant manner. Counter-productive or not, it would be so easy to slip his hand underneath the waistband, but Severus knew it would be a hollow release, and a shameful one, coming with thoughts of Potter guiding his hand.

First thing in the morning that Cloak was going to the Headmaster. Let _him_ deal with the boy and the return of the accursed artifact. Severus could no longer risk being alone with the boy, not if his anger, his resentment, and the memories of that night were to color every encounter with him. The Headmaster would not be overjoyed when he learned he had taken the boy's precious Cloak away for even a night, but better to withstand the Headmaster's disappointment again that to risk feeling Potter's arousal against his thigh a third time. Severus was more likely to survive the Headmaster's displeasure.

He Summoned the Disillusioned silver thread he had sown into Potter's Cloak so many years ago, causing the entire garment to jerk uncertainly towards him with a lazy swish of his wand. The cool fabric flowed like liquid onto his lap as he held it, teasing his arousal in a way Severus ignored. His fingers, as sensitive as they were stained, searched for the thin, Disillusioned threads of silver woven in, casting a charm or three on them to keep them undetected for a little while longer and keeping his thoughts as far from Potter as possible.

~~~*~~~

Dobby shook Harry awake, the house-elf's eyes glowing by the light of the candle left burning on the low table. The common room was dark and cold; a handful of embers still glowed in the fireplace.

The fire had been burning when Harry had settled into the cushioned chair, diligently waiting for Dobby to return. He was so wired with sexual confusion and nerves, he had not expected to nod off. He must have been more tired that he had first thought.

"Is Harry Potter awake, sir?" Dobby said, his high-pitched voice like the faint hiss of air slowly escaping from a balloon. "Maybe Harry Potter is more comfortable in a bed?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, rubbing his eyes with his fingers before readjusting his glasses. Dobby looked up at him, regret clear on his face. It took a moment for Harry to notice what was missing.

His father's Invisibility Cloak was not in Dobby's hands. His stomach churned painfully. "The Cloak?"

Dobby's look of regret deepened. "Dobby couldn't take the Cloak from Professor Snape, Harry Potter sir," he said, his hands twisting the hem of his shrunken sweater. "It was in Professor Snape's hands for hours."

"He's still awake?" Harry asked incredulously, glancing at the common room's clock. It was nearly four-thirty in the morning. "What was he doing with it this whole time?"

"Professor Snape was casting spells on the Cloak," Dobby said. "Dobby does not know what kind or why."

Harry could only guess at what sort of hideous, dangerous charms Snape had put on his Cloak now that he had the chance. He didn't know what he would do if Snape damaged the Cloak in any way. "I can't believe this," he whispered to himself, deflating a bit and sinking into the chair. If his stomach did not stop churning, he was going to vomit.

"The Cloak is still fine, Harry Potter sir," Dobby reassured him as he wrung his hands. "The spells weren't affecting the Cloak at all. And Dobby thinks Professor Snape needed something to do. Professor Snape is still much too upset over what happened today to sleep."

"Probably still upset Ginny hexed him," Harry said, making a small noise of agreement. Snape was never one to take indignities in stride; it must have been quite an insult to be accidentally hexed in his own class.

The pale, haggard face of his professor after leaving the Hospital Wing formed again in Harry's mind. "How did he look?" he asked suddenly before backpedalling. "Because he didn't look too well earlier."

Dobby gave Harry a weak, grateful smile, confusing Harry. "Oh, Professor Snape would be so happy to know Harry Potter cares so much for him," Dobby said, his large eyes suspiciously bright.

"Don't be so sure," Harry muttered under his breath, recalling how Snape had responded to Harry's vague concern with cold suspicion not a few hours ago. "He didn't appreciate it before."

"Professor Snape is not very good with concern, yes," Dobby said as if he knew first-hand about Snape's reaction to concern and kindness. "He is still ill, yes, but his body will heal. It is Professor Snape's heart that Dobby is afraid will stay broken for a long time."

"Snape's heart?" Harry echoed. "What does Snape's heart have to do with what happened?" He stared at the house-elf as an odd thought dawned on him. "You know what made Snape sick all these months, don't you Dobby?"

Dobby stood stock-still for a brief moment before he began to tremble all over. "Dobby does," he said, the tower of knitted hats on his head wobbling dangerously. "But Dobby cannot tell Harry Potter. Dobby promised Professor Dumbledore he will keep this secret."

"This is Dumbledore's secret?" Harry said, confused and not a bit wary.

"This is Hogwarts' secret," Dobby insisted. "And Dobby is proud to keep it."

Harry was silent, going over the words in his mind. "… It must be something terrible, then," he said after a while.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Dobby said. "Terrible for Professor Snape. And very sad, too."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. If it was terrible and sad, he reasoned, it might involve Voldemort after all. Dumbledore kept so many things secret; Harry would not be surprised if Snape's illness had been caused by Riddle in some way. But Dobby said it was Hogwarts' secret, so Harry could be wrong.

Harry would not be able to leave this alone. Snape might not tell him directly what that terrible, sad secret was, but that had not stopped Harry before. What if it did involve Voldemort in some way? What if it involved Harry?

"Does Harry Potter want Dobby to try again?" Dobby said, interrupting Harry's thoughts, startling him.

"What? No," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's alright. I'll go get it first thing in the morning." The thought of having to face Snape again so soon after what happened in that corridor made his insides turn to ice. He remembered acutely how the smell of Snape's robes and the feel of Snape's body against his had affected him. He also remembered the horrified look on the man's face when he had felt just how he had affected Harry. Snape was probably just as eager to keep his distance, if that look of fear had been genuine, and in any other situation, that would have been a welcomed reprieve.

That would not get Harry his Cloak back, however, and he had been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason. He could not let his embarrassment stop him from getting back what was rightfully his. And it would give him a chance to perhaps get a clue as to what sort of secret Snape, and by extension Dumbledore and Hogwarts, was hiding.

"Thank you, Dobby," he said, grateful for the house-elf's unexpected help even if he had been unable to do what Harry had initially asked him to do. The house-elf beamed at Harry before disappearing, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.


	15. Chapter 15

_Potter was so young, so eager, his erection hard and hot against Severus's thigh. This should not be happening. Severus held on tight to the boy._

_"Potter," Severus managed to say before Potter crammed his tongue into Severus's mouth. Their noses smashed against each other. Potter's glasses scraped against Severus's face._

_"Shut up," Potter said, pulling away just enough to gasp that out. The boy's hands were fumbling with Severus's robes, searching for a fast way in. "I hate you so much." He pressed his mouth against Severus's jaw. His hands found the waist of Severus' trousers and popped the buttons with fervor._

_"The feeling's more than mutual," Severus growled, his hands already inside the boy's clothing, twisting Potter's nipples hard enough to hurt him._

_"But I hate just you," Potter said, whimpering as Severus bit into the side of his neck. Potter pushed Severus against the wall, his grip on Severus' cock tightened in retaliation. "You hate me because of my father."_

_"Even without hating your father," Severus said as he pushed against Potter's hand, grinding shamelessly against him, "I would still hate you."_

_He kissed Potter, letting the boy shove his tongue back inside. He pulled the boy down towards the cold stone floor._

_~~~*~~~_

Severus awoke with a groan to the sound of someone knocking on his office door. He didn't remember falling asleep at his desk; his last thoughts were on adjusting a few lesson plans to make up for the day's worth of lost class time. There were now a few stray lines and drops of ink blotting out parts of his Thursday lesson with the Ravenclaw first years. He rubbed his face in exhaustion.

Whoever it was at his door had quite the nerve. It could not have been any more than six o'clock in the morning. What little light there was in the room was coming from the charmed window to his left, which showed only a dull, overcast sky. It was dark, and not a little cold, but the person on the other side was still being aggravatingly insistent, knocking hard enough on Severus' door to wake the death if need be.

Severus stretched as he rose from the chair, grimacing as his cramped muscles protested. He was still in yesterday's robes, and his face felt grimy and rough underneath his hands. He hoped a few sharp words would send whomever it was at his door back to whatever dark hole they had come from.

He opened the door and found Potter on the other side, one fist up to pound away at Severus' door. The boy was already in his school robes, the pleats the house elves iron in still crisp and neat. It was easy to see, however, that Potter had not slept well last night, either. The hair was, surprisingly, more ragged and unkempt than usual, and that glower on his face was equal parts surliness and exhaustion.

Severus was not surprised to see him there. Of course it was Potter banging on his office door at such an indecent hour, ready to herald in another day full of suffering. Severus crossed his arms and straightened to his full height, as much to intimidate the cretin as to establish and keep a distance between them.

He would not let Potter drive him to act as he did last night. He could not, and would not, make the same foolish mistakes again.

"This better be an emergency, Potter," Severus said, his voice rough from sleep as he glared balefully at the boy.

The boy startled for a moment, but he quickly regained his bearings. "I need my father's Cloak back," he said, his tone quiet but bossy to Severus' ears.

Severus stared at the boy for a long moment, wanting to make the boy squirm. He was pleased when Potter began to tense up under the scrutiny. A corner of Severus' mouth turned up and formed a malicious smile. "And what makes you think I'll give such an extremely useful artifact to someone as loathsome as yourself," he said, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet, empty hall. "You certainly can't seem to find any proper use for it, however much you think stalking your professors should be considered 'proper use'."

"Dumbledore-"

"Professor Dumbledore, Potter," Severus interjected.

"He said I need to keep it with me at all times," Potter continued, his voice almost a whisper as he ignored Severus' interruption. "Just in case," he added, staring right at Severus' face. It was almost laughable, the boy's attempt at subtlety and secrecy. His eyes were large and bright behind the thick frames.

"Yes, just in case you get the irrepressible urge to wreak havoc," Severus said with contempt, averting his eyes to the bridge of the boy's nose. Better to not look into those eyes than to condemn himself to more misery. "No, you will get your Cloak back _after_ I have spoken to the Headmaster about your behavior last night."

The boy's ears and cheeks immediately turned red, even as the rest of his face blanched. He _should_ be ashamed and afraid, for all that he had done. "Perhaps this will cure you of your need to snoop into others' affairs," Severus said. "As well as anything else that seems to be wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with finding out if you were alright," the boy said hotly, clearly offended or, more likely, upset at being exposed for the conniving fool he was.

"I don't believe for one moment that was your sole motivation, Potter," Severus said. "I know you too well."

"I doubt that," was Potter's reply.

Severus did not bother replying to the petulant words.

In the pause, Severus heard the sound of someone's footsteps echoing through the halls. It was a slow, steady sound, one familiar to Severus after all these years. He knew without looking that it was the Headmaster, idly strolling through the dungeons towards them and smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world.

His cheerful demeanor at such an early hour was as inexcusable as the bottle-green robes he was wearing that morning. Severus clenched his teeth, focusing instead on the gold braid on the Headmaster's coned cap.

"Good morning, Professor Snape, Harry," the Headmaster said as he drew near, giving each of them a slight nod of his head.

"Professor Dumbledore," Potter said meekly, a guilty, unsure look on his face.

"Headmaster," Severus returned, his face sober even as he tried to puzzle out exactly what had brought the Headmaster down into the dungeons at that hour, if not to personally learn why Potter was at Severus's door.

"It's so rare to see the two of you awake at this hour," the Headmaster said, his eyes on Potter, but Severus knew the old man was paying attention to Severus as well. "What brings you down here at 5:30 in the morning, Harry?"

"Snape has my Invisibility Cloak," Potter blurted out like a child denied his favorite ball.

"Professor Snape, Harry," the Headmaster reprimanded gently. He glanced at Severus.

"I confiscated it," Severus said, his crossed arms stiffening against the disapproval in the Headmaster's eyes. "He used it last night to harass a member of the staff."

"And by 'a member of the staff', you mean yourself, Professor Snape?" the Headmaster said, amused.

The Headmaster's words rankled Severus. "Would you feel differently if it was Professor McGonagall or yourself, being followed by the boy? Who knows what sorts of mischief he has gotten into with that artifact that we do not know about?" The boy's behavior must not be condoned any longer. Severus would not allow it.

The Headmaster smiled ruefully. "I'm certain that Harry meant no harm," he said. "But you are absolutely right, Professor Snape; this sort of behavior should not go unpunished." He stroked his beard and nodded his head sagely. "However, I do not think I have to outline for either of you why Harry should have his father's Cloak returned to him."

Severus stared down the empty hall just past the Headmaster's shoulder. "Whatever you think is best, Headmaster," he muttered.

"Well," the Headmaster said, "I think that, in exchange for the Cloak, Harry should instead receive two days' detention with you. I think that's more than a fair trade."

Severus' bones turned cold at the Headmaster's words. "Headmaster," he said in a measured tone, "while I hardly believe two days' detention is more than adequate, I do not think that I will have time to supervise a detention over the next few days, considering all the work I must to do get my classes back on track." Not to mention all the anxiety he felt at the thought of being forced to spend more time alone with Potter. He did not think he could handle it, but to outright refuse would just make the old man more suspicious.

"Oh, I'm certain Harry could make himself useful to you in that regard, if you let him. Defense Against the Dark Arts is his strongest subject, as I am sure you know," the Headmaster said, his expression sharp and not the least bit convinced by Severus' objection. Severus quickly made sure his Occlumency shields were up, afraid the Headmaster would sense the wrong thing and come to the right conclusions. "And I can't think of a better person to supervise these detentions than the person wronged."

Sometimes, Severus wondered if the old man truly hated him. "Very well," he said, turning towards Potter. "Report to me tomorrow evening, now go get your Cloak. It's on the chair." He moved aside to let the boy pass, his motions stiff and awkward as he avoided touching the boy altogether.

"Severus," the Headmaster said in a low voice once the boy was out of earshot. Severus looked at him, wary. "Did you read the materials I sent down last night?"

"No, I did not," he said. He was too busy trying not to remember. He looked over to where Potter was, searching for his Cloak by Severus' desk. "The chair, Potter," he directed.

"And you intend to teach today?" the Headmaster said.

"I'm not ill," Severus said defensively. "Just tired." It had been a very long time since he had let such a thing as _fatigue_ stop him from doing his duty. "Not my chair, you dolt. The other chair."

"Have you at least considered talking to the boy?" the Headmaster said.

Severus jerked and glared at the old man. "That matter is closed," he hissed, "and I would prefer that you weren't so frank about it."

"I'm only looking out for your best interests," the Headmaster said so sincerely and gently that bile rose in Severus's throat. "Ah, Harry, found your Cloak?" The boy stood no more than five steps away, a confused look on his face as he nodded. He must have heard some of what they had said just now; the boy was too curious to not eavesdrop on Severus's conversations.

"Good, good," the Headmaster said as he extended his hand and guided the boy out of Severus's office. "Perhaps you should come and walk with me a ways and give Professor Snape a chance to get ready for the day." The old man winked Severus's direction. Severus returned the look with a blank stare.

The old man and the boy walked up the hallway side by side. After a few feet, Potter looked back, that curious, confused look in his eyes. He had heard, of that Severus was certain, and it frightened him to think that was the Headmaster's intention all along.

Severus lifted his chin and sniffed at the look in Potter's eyes before turning away, slamming his office door behind him. He had a day's worth of classes to prepare for.


	16. Chapter 16

A few students were in the halls as Severus made his way back to his classroom after dinner. They would duck out of the way as he approached, wary of attracting his attention. Severus' thoughts, however, were not on the jumpy students or the possibility of ill-conceived pranks so late in the day, at least, not at the moment. There was something stuck in a crevice near the back of his mouth, just out of his tongue's reach, and he was having the worst trouble dislodging it.

What _had_ he eaten tonight? He should not be having so much trouble remembering. He vaguely recalled seeing green peas on his plate, or were those Potter's eyes, watching him from over the rim of his goblet of pumpkin juice?

The boy had stared at Severus all day, which had the dual effect of both irritating and worrying him. Perhaps he was being especially paranoid, nervous that the boy had developed some completely counter-productive notion about Severus' 'illness'. Potter had glanced up at him in between mouthfuls of egg and toast during breakfast. He had taken detours and passed by Severus on his way to classes, unabashedly stared as Severus walked past. Potter had looked towards the Head Table more than a few times as he ate his lamb pie at lunch.

He had peeked at Severus from behind his quill, paying more attention to Severus than to any of the test questions set before him. He was not one for studying, Potter, but even he should have realized Severus was in no mood for inanities. He had thought a mock N.E.W.T. would be enough to distract the boy, but apparently he had underestimated just how as thickheaded and bullish Harry Potter was.

"Eyes. Down!" Severus had said, enunciating with so much force that the majority of the class hunched their shoulders over their parchments in fear. Potter had ducked his head then as well, but by the end of the class, he returned to his previous preoccupation, darting his gaze away whenever Severus glanced in his direction.

He was not looking forward to tonight's detention, not if Potter's actions today were merely foreshadowing the suffering Severus would go through in his presence tonight. He cursed the Headmaster's name for 'suggesting' the punishment, and his own for allowing himself to cower at the _thought_ of spending time alone with the boy.

Something niggled in the back of his mind, however. Aside from Potter's increasingly unwanted attentions, the day had been unremarkable. He had spent the entire day waiting for an errant hex or worse, yet no one had dared. Part of him knew that it as only a matter of time before something _did_ happen, and he was certain he was not going to enjoy it one bit.

It was at that moment, just outside his classroom door, when the Mark on his arm flared to life. He stumbled in shock, catching himself with one steadying hand against the wall and nearly swearing in frustration.

"Professor Snape," Potter said as from behind him. Severus glared over his shoulder and straightened his stance. Potter was already there at his elbow, his eyes sharp and his arms out as if to catch Severus in case he fell.

Severus sneered as he turned towards the boy, crossing his arms. He had been following Severus all the way down to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, hadn't he? He was not carrying his books, but he was still in his school robes, and there were still breadcrumbs on the corner of his mouth. The detention was not for another ten minutes or so, yet there he was, three steps behind Severus to, no doubt, continue his unsolicited observations.

"Potter," Severus said, doing his best to ignore the pain in his arm. He tightly wrapped his robes around his body as he glowered down at the boy. "You're going to have to serve your detention tomorrow. I have other, more pressing matters to attend to tonight."

"Is it--?" Potter began to say, blatantly glancing at Severus's left arm before catching himself. He licked his lips. The breadcrumbs were left untouched. "Is it at 8 o'clock tomorrow?" he tried again. "The detention."

Severus exhaled through his nose. "Yes," he conceded, "and I can only hope that you are as capable of being on time tomorrow as you are at pestering," he said churlishly as he turned away. The pain from the summons was getting harder to ignore and he knew the Dark Lord was an impatient master. If he hurried, he could be out of the anti-Apparation wards within the half-hour.

"And the day after that?" Potter said, catching up to Severus and shamelessly walking beside him. "Professor Dumbledore said two nights, remember?"

"Are you so eager to serve detention with me, Potter?" Severus said, glaring at anyone that dared to whisper at the sight of the two of them, striding side by side towards the dungeons.

"I just want to make sure I don't get into any more trouble," Potter said, matching him stride for stride.

Severus was not sure how to reply, so he didn't and merely quickened his pace, hoping _that_ would get the boy to stop following him. He knew there was something Potter wanted to say; whether it was related to curiosity or concern, Severus did not know, nor did he care. He just didn't have the time to deal with the boy's words and mannerisms right now.

He stopped at his office door, unwilling to lead the boy directly to his quarters, and turned to face him. Potter stared back at him, his mouth a thin line holding back some base, useless drivel. His eyes were dark with questions.

It took a moment for Severus to realize the boy was actually reluctant to leave him in peace. "Goodnight, Mr Potter," he said, his tone final.

The boy startled slightly, his eyes widening. He moved back a step. "Uh! Um, right," the boy stammered eloquently, lowering his eyes. He stood there for a breath, one foot forward and one foot back, waiting for a reason to stay and harass Severus some more.

Severus refused to give it to him.

"Goodnight," the boy said, looking up once more at Severus' face before finally taking his leave. The boy began to walk back out of the dungeons, glancing behind his shoulder a couple of times in his retreat. He waited as the boy disappeared around a corner. Only when he was certain the boy wasn't going to backtrack and reappear did Severus enter his office, quickly shutting the door behind him.

The Mark was burning as he walked around his desk and went to the narrow side door near the back. He pushed aside the drying herbs and flowers that hung over the dark wood, hiding it from the casual eye, tucking the boughs onto the hook embedded into the frame. He whispered a quick word to the carnation carved into the wood where the spyhole would have been placed and hurried inside, taking care to close the door behind him.

He cast _Lumos_ and rushed through the crowded sitting room to his bedroom. The hooded cloak and mask were just where he had left them after the last time the Dark Lord had felt it imperative to summon him, stuffed in an old sack he usually used when he went out foraging in the Forbidden Forest.

He slung the sack over a shoulder and, after a quick glance at himself in the mirror, left his rooms.

He made his way out of the castle and away from the effect of the Anti-Apparation wards as discreetly and nonchalantly as possible. What few students still wandering through the dungeons were wise enough to step out of Severus' path as he took a roundabout way out of the castle. He went down a narrow hallway to where the boats were stored during the school year and followed the deck out to the grounds. From there, it was only a short, shaded walk into the Forest and to the edge of the wards.

He leaned against a tree trunk to catch his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand stroking the skin around the burning Mark. It wasn't just a coincidence that he was being summoned so soon after his brief time in hospital, he thought as he sent his Patronus to the Headmaster with a message. The silver doe wasted no time in dashing up into the air towards the Headmaster's tower. He took a slow, calming breath as he watched her leap out of sight.

He pulled out the robe and mask from the sack and put them on in the darkness. He tucked the sack into a pocket of his robes, and, after taking one last fortifying breath, placed his wand against his Mark and Disapparated towards the Dark Lord.

Others were already in the audience room when Severus arrived. They lined the sides of the room, their black cloaks barely whispering against the parquet floor as they shifted their weight from foot to foot, waiting. Anticipating. Their masks shone golden in the light, blank and impersonal.

The Dark Lord was watching from his seat at the far end of the room, this Severus knew without lifting his eyes. Severus did his best to ignore the shiver of fear down his spine as he moved to bow before the Dark Lord.

"My Lord," he said in greeting, his voice oddly hollow as he took care to keep his own anxiety hidden and his mind sufficiently closed.

His counterparts shifted like restless birds. The back of Severus' neck dampened with sweat. A few behind him were huffing in laughter. It was a veritable party tonight, and Severus had just been marked as the entertainment.

Severus did not think he would be enjoying this any more than he would have enjoyed Potter's company for two hours. However, something told him _this_ would be a bit more painful to endure.

"Severus", the Dark Lord said, hissing his name in greeting. "I didn't think you'd be joining us tonight."

"I apologize for my delay, my Lord," Severus said, keeping back his excuses. It would have been folly to give them. He was already before the Dark Lord, surrounded by his peers, in an exposed and vulnerable position. Pointing out the restrictions placed upon him by his role as spy, a role of which the Dark Lord approved, would only imply his tardiness was the Dark Lord's fault.

That would not win him any favors, and at the moment, Severus was in desperate need of a few.

A high-pitched voice screeched, " _Crucio_!" cursing Severus with unstoppable agony for a handful of milliseconds. He screamed, as much from the pain as from the shock. He fell to his knees as the curse was lifted away.

"Not yet, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord said, his words uttered with false reprimands. "Severus should at least know _why_ he is here."

Bellatrix snorted at the notion, but held her tongue.

Severus stared down at the parquet floor and slowly rose back to his feet.

"I summoned you tonight because I recently had a revelation," the Dark Lord said. Severus stared at the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, aching too much to move at the moment. "I realized that perhaps we, and by 'we', I mean 'you'," he clarified, directing his words above Severus' bowed head to all those assembled before him, "have been growing too complacent."

A few shifted guiltily at the words.

"So complacent, in fact," the Dark Lord continued, "that we've allowed ourselves to be thwarted by mere children." That brought about a rising chorus of shifting and shuffling of feet. The part of Severus that can still be disconnected and flippant in the face of pending torture laughed at their discomfort. "So, I am once again forced to set an example of _one_ of you to teach _all_ of you."

Bellatrix took that as her cue and cast Cruciatus on Severus once more. She lifted it after a few seconds, but for Severus, once more brought down onto his hands and knees, it felt so much longer. He made a feeble attempt to stand, even as his muscles shook with each breath.

"I don't like learning that one of my strongest followers was sent to hospital because of a little girl's hex," the Dark Lord said.

Bellatrix smiled a too-wide smile and cast Cruciatus again. Severus writhed on the floor in agony, twisting and screaming beyond his control until the curse was lifted again.

He rolled onto his knees with a groan. He felt and moved like a battered, broken old man. He could taste blood in his mouth. He rested his brow in the smooth, cool floor as he tried to catch his breath and regain enough strength to stand.

"I hope this does not happen again, Severus," the Dark Lord said. The hem of his robes swayed just out of reach of Severus fingers.

"No, my Lord," Severus said, his voice shamefully hoarse.

The Dark Lord walked back to his seat at the far end of the room, leaving Severus' prostrating on the parquet floor.

Bellatrix moved to stand before him then, almost at the exact spot the Dark Lord had stood at just moments before. The hems of her robes were stitched with a dark blue thread that shimmered in the light. Severus was having trouble lifting his head higher.

She knelt down. Her face hovered over Severus' in an intimate fashion. "The Dark Lord may think it was complacency," she murmured to him. Her breath felt sour as it rolled against his cheek in a hot wave. "But I know the truth." She showed her teeth. It was a vicious expression. "You're just a weak, useless half-blood."

She stood up straight and kicked his arm. He lost his balance and dropped flat onto the floor. She cursed him again for a millisecond, but it was difficult to judge past the pain. "Maybe some time under a Pureblood's wand is just what you need to be stronger," she cackled as she cast Cructiatus on him once more.

Again and again, she shouted, " _Crucio_!" No more than five times, he believed, but he could not be sure. Each time was short, no more than a hair's breadth of time, and certainly not enough to drive a man mad, but it was enough.

"Are you strong enough yet?" she said gleefully as she lifted the curse one last time. Severus's body twitched as he lay, sprawled indelicately on the parquet floor. He thought he caught a slice of a smile on the Dark Lord's face, but he was barely conscious to be sure.


	17. A Fifth Interlude

It was getting late, and Harry was starting to shiver. He wrapped his father's Cloak tighter around himself, covering the back of his neck against the draft, but the thin material was not enough to keep him warm.

He probably would not have minded if the small supply room had been just cold. He could handle the cold rather well. The cramped quarters and thick layers of dust, too, were things to which he had been accustomed for years. He _had_ grown up in a cupboard, after all.

He hadn't had to share his cupboard under the stairs with an animated footstool, however, at least not one that had taken to jabbing him in the ribs with its hard, pointy corners. And he wasn't certain, but something considerably not rat-like kept sniffing at his shoe.

Despite these little inconveniences, however, Harry was undeterred. He was willing to go through much worse if it meant finally getting the upper hand. It was a small, cramped room, but it was also down in the dungeons, not far from either the main staircase or from Snape's office door. When Snape returned to the castle... if Snape returned to the castle... Harry would be ready and waiting for him.

... Although, if Harry didn't know better, he would think the git was staying away from Hogwarts just to _spite_ him at this point...

He huffed and kicked at whatever was sniffing at his foot. The feeble light he had conjured hours ago wobbled, amused by his misery. "You're horrible at your job," he muttered to the little light. It only flittered and flickered in response, never moving from its spot above the Map spread out in front of him.

Harry stared down at the Map, hoping that somehow, he had skipped over Snape's name the last thirty or so times he had searched for him. His office was still unoccupied, and, aside from Filch up by the Astronomy Tower and Professor Sprout near the Charms classroom, the halls were empty. There were a few people out on the grounds, but their names were not familiar to Harry and he could only assume that they were the Aurors assigned to watch the castle that night.

Snape's name was not among the clusters in any of the dormitories, or along the Lake's shore. Snape's name was still not on the Map. Snape had still not come back.

Did he intend to come back at all tonight, Harry thought as he rested his head on his hand and stifled a yawn with a fist. How long did he had to wait until he got his chance?

The footstool jabbed him, waking him up; he pushed it away with his elbow. He was going to fall asleep if he wasn't careful. He rubbed his tired eyes and scratched his nose as a new set of footprints appeared just on the edge of the Map.

"Snape," he said, straightening at the sight of the professor's name. The footstool, intrigued by his sudden movement, jabbed him in the ribs especially hard. He winced, holding the footstool back with a hand, and slowly pulled himself up to his feet.

Snape's footsteps looked a bit slow and uneasy as they emerged from a path that led out from the Forest. One of the Aurors on the grounds was walking quickly towards him, coming to stand nearly toe to toe with the professor.

Harry grabbed the Map as he dragged his numb feet underneath him. The little light hovered up to his ear, taking care to keep its light on the parchment. The Auror, someone named 'Alphege Hutton', was walking with Snape up to the oak doors, taking care to stay in step with the professor.

Harry bit his lip as feeling returned to his legs. He could feel something nudging his toe. It wouldn't be too long before Snape reached the dungeons, and Harry needed to be ready for when he came by.

"Mischief Managed," he whispered, his wand tip touching the Map, as he leaned against a broken desk. His legs tingled painfully as he folded the Map up, tucked it away in his pocket, and pointed his wand at the little light. " _Nox_ ," he said to the little light, which wobbled for a moment before blinking out, plunging the room into darkness. He covered himself completely with the Cloak and quietly, carefully, slipped out into the hallway.

He barely managed to close the door behind him when he spotted the glow of a lantern coming towards him. He pressed himself against the stone wall, careful not to make a sound, as Snape and Hutton turned the corner.

As the pair drew closer, Harry could tell right away that Snape looked horrible. His robes were splattered with mud, as was the sack slung over his shoulder. Bits of last year's foliage clung to his hair and clothes. His face, long and hollow-eyed, was a white mask, his mouth a black slash. His posture was impeccable, but his stride was slow and his hands were clenched at his sides.

Hutton, dressed in Auror red, walked shoulder to shoulder with Snape. He was a large man, about a head taller than Snape and easily twice the professor's weight. He held a lantern up and away with a rough, callused hand, and he had an underbite that made him look like a bulldog.

"You don't have to walk me all the way to my door, Auror Hutton," Snape said, his slow steps and weak voice belying his words. "I think I can manage on my own."

"I'm sure that you can, Professor," Hutton said in a higher-pitched voice than his body had led Harry to believe possible. His words had a bite that reminded Harry of Remus, particularly when he was disappointed in someone. "But it's my duty make sure you get home safely." As they drew closer, Harry could see the Auror's furrowed brow. "Though you should know better than to go out into the Forest at night alone."

"You never grasped the necessity of fresh ingredients, Hutton," Snape said, his usual smugness strengthening his voice.

"And you don't teach Potions any more, Snape," the Auror said, as if teasing Snape. Harry covered his mouth and tugged the Cloak tighter around himself as the pair walked past. He quietly fell in step behind them.

Snape gave the man a sideways glance as they neared Snape's office door. "Just don't expect me to invite you in," he said imperiously. Harry stared at the back of the Auror's head as a crazy idea entered his head, an idea that only grew worse when Hutton turned his head to look at Snape.

"Not even for a cup of tea?" he said in his pixie voice. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Snape glowered at the Auror. "I would hate to take you away from your other duties," he said as they stopped in front of Snape's office door. The professor looked at the Auror in the eye. "Thank you, Auror Hutton," he said. "I can see myself in."

"Are you sure?" Auror Hutton said as he took a step closer to the professor.

"Don't get so familiar, Auror," Snape said in an icy tone. The Auror merely shrugged as he stepped back and to the side. Snape unlocked his door and stepped inside, only to sway on his feet at the last step.

Harry took a step forward, stretching his arms out to catch the professor before realizing he was supposed to stay unseen. Hutton surged forward as well and caught Snape with his free arm. He held the professor up against his broad chest in something not unlike an embrace. The professor glared at Hutton as he helped Snape inside.

Harry bit his lip and rushed inside behind them.

Snape slid out of the Auror's grasp and took a heavy step towards one of the straight-back chairs facing his desk. He placed a white, steadying hand on the chair before turning to face the younger man. "Good night, Auror Hutton," he said.

Hutton stared at Snape as Harry carefully made his way along the wall, away from the door. He watched them, wondering just what was the Auror on. He couldn't _possibly_ be interested in Snape, not in _that_ way, right? Snape was a mess, and no amount of cleaning up would make that mess pleasing to the eye.

Harry's face burned as he remembered how pleasing Snape had been to his _body_ , when it was pressed against him just the night before. He shook his head, angry with himself. Now was not the time to think about hardness of Snape's thigh, or of the scent on the man's robes... or of Snape's reaction when he felt Harry against him.

Instead of leaving, the Auror took a step towards Snape. He moved slowly, as if cornering a wild, injured beast, and placed his hand on the chair as well. His hand did not touch the professor's, but it was closer than Harry thought was necessary.

Snape, for the most part, looked about one move away from gouging Hutton's eyes out with his bare hands. His stiff shoulders were held back defensively. "What do you think you are doing?" he said in a hiss.

Hutton did not reply and only met Snape's glare. His expression was almost unreadable, but it wasn't that hard for Harry to see that Hutton was planning something.

It must have been obvious to Snape as well. His hand was moving towards a pocket of his robes.

Hutton leaned forward and kissed Snape full on the mouth, smashing his cheek against Snape's nose. Harry stared, horrified, as Hutton's underbite scraped against Snape's upper lip. His callused hand rose up to Snape's shoulder, grasping it.

Snape jerked his wand hand out of his pocket and pressed the end of his wand on the underside of Hutton's jaw. The Auror pulled back in surprise, the hand on Snape pulling away but still hovering over Snape's shoulder.

"Perhaps you should get back to work?" Snape said, his wand hand steady despite the shakiness of his voice and the fact that it was pointed at an _Auror_ of all people.

The Auror wisely took a step back. "Maybe another night?" he said, never taking his eyes off Snape's face.

"That eager to be castrated?" Snape said, his expression serious. The tip of the wand was beginning to spark and tremble in his grip, but Hutton either did not notice, or didn't feel like bringing attention to it.

"You really should take it easy," Severus," Hutton said.

Snape's scowl darkened. He reached out and touched Hutton's chest with the tip of his wand. "You may not be my student anymore, Hutton, but that does not give you the right to address me in that manner."

"What will?" Hutton said, a half-smile on his face as he said it.

"Get out," Snape said, unmoved.

Hutton threw his hands up, surrendering, and took another step back. "I'm going," he said as he moved towards the door, never turning his back to Snape. He blindly fumbled with the doorknob. Snape merely glowered at him.

After a tense moment, Hutton managed to get the door open. "Goodnight," he said to Snape, sounding sincere. "Take care," he added as he left, closing the office door.

Harry stared at the door, confused and not a bit angry at the Auror, before noticing Snape was moving again. Whatever had been keeping Snape up until that moment was gone. His arms were shaking as he slipped his wand back into his pocket. His breathing was labored and his body slumped, exhausted.

Snape kept a hand on the furniture as he trudged towards the back of his office. Harry quietly moved around to the desk as well, anxious to get closer but unwilling to let Snape know that he was there. He moved slowly, one eye on Snape and the other on where his feet were going.

Snape came to a stop in front of a cluster of dried herb bunches that were hanging against the stone wall behind his desk. As Snape pushed the bunches aside, the stone wall began to disappear and a door began to take shape. Dark wood replaced stone, first forming the frame and then turning its magic inward to reveal vertical lines and a strange carving of a flower up at eye level.

Snape murmured something to the carving, which made the carved flower flicker briefly. The door unlocked with a snap and swung silently out and away from Snape. He stumbled more than walked through the open door, stopping against a table on the other side to catch his breath. The sack slid off his shoulder and fell onto the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

Harry stared at the open door, debating with himself for a moment if he should follow. He had already snuck into Snape's office, and he had learned things about Snape that could not be unlearned in a hundred years, but there was still much he needed to know.

What's more, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enter Snape's quarters. Deep inside, Harry knew that sneaking into Snape's rooms would be as great as a violation of the professor's privacy as the incident with the Pensieve had been. However, if following Snape into his personal rooms meant he would find out the truth, then Harry could not, he should not, hesitate for a second.

As he watched Snape's arms tremble from overexertion, or perhaps one too many curses, Harry made his move. He ducked underneath the bunches of dried herbs and felt the skin on his face and hands tingle as he stepped inside what was obviously Snape's sitting room.

Snape's head jerked up, making Harry freeze. Snape stared through Harry at the open door, his eyes narrowing. Harry's heart stopped before he quickly moving out of the way, nearly stumbling on the sofa, as Snape moved to push the door closed.

Snape leaned against the closed door, resting his shoulder against the hard wood before turning and standing with his back against it. Harry watched as he slowly slid down the front of the door to sit on the bare floor. His legs splayed out in a very not-Snape-like manner.

Harry hovered beside the sofa and looked around as the professor closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The sitting room was cluttered much more than he would have thought possible for Snape. Books and strange artifacts were crammed into the shelves and left in piles on the floor. There were journals, open and abandoned, on the table by the sofa. The mantelpiece was bare but for a couple of trinkets, a clock, and a framed photograph which was missing its occupant. The bedroom door was open, and Harry could see the shape of a four-post bed in the shadows. A cluster of parchment scrolls and manuscripts, tied together with a bright blue ribbon, were on the table by the door, along with a few scraps and a quill with a tattered plume.

The lights on the wall scones were bright, bringing all the dark stains on Snape's robes in sharp relief. Harry wondered if there was more on Snape's robes than just mud and debris.

Snape's hand shook as he brought it up to his collar. He slowly began to undo the fastenings of his robes. His fingers struggled with the topmost button but managed to slide out of its hole.

Harry's mouth dried and his face grew hot as Snape's fingers fiddled with the buttons. As each slipped out of its buttonhole, more and more of Snape's skin was revealed. First the white neck, his Adam's apple jutting out... the pronounced collar bones and thin, sparsely-haired chest... Snape eased the wool off his left shoulder and examined a bruise darkening on his upper arm. He prodded the skin, his mouth betraying little of the pain.

Harry stared at the bruise in shock as Snape's hand fell away. It was rather big, and for a moment Harry wondered if Snape _had_ actually spent the last few hours in the Forest gathering ingredients, and _not_ at Voldemort's beck and call. However, Harry had seen Riddle punish his followers. It would certainly explain the trembling as a side-effect of the Cruciatus Curse.

If Snape had been punished tonight, however, then what was the reason for it? Voldemort was a madman, but he didn't torture his Death Eaters without due cause. Was Snape simply not acting fast enough in fulfilling their nefarious plans? Maybe it had to do with Malfoy's task... But, Dumbledore trusted Snape. How likely was it that Snape was tortured because he was deliberately dragging his feet? Maybe he was punished for a different reason whatsoever? Harry's thoughts ran in frustrated little circles, trying to fathom "why".

Snape's head fell forward and he began to laugh weakly. His hand pressed against his side, as if the airy chuckles pained him. His eyes squeezed shut and his head rolled to the side. His cheek rested against his right shoulder as the chuckles began to sound more and more like sobs.

"Maybe it's karma," Snape said, one hand sliding underneath the robes to press against his ribs and the other coming up to his brow. More bruises peeked out from underneath the wool. "Karma," he said again, finding the word amusing enough to laugh a bit louder before groaning in pain.

He moved glacially as he lay down on his side, his back still against the door. His arms folded up against his chest, crossing at the wrists. For a moment, Snape looked like a corpse, with his white, sickly complexion and bony frame. Snape huffed out another laugh, and it was a mournful sound to Harry, more so than before, as Snape took care not to laugh too loudly lest he hurt himself further.

Harry stared down at his professor, unsure as to what he should do, when there was a knock on the door. Snape's eyes rolled to the side, but otherwise did not move.

"Severus," Dumbledore said from the other side of the door. "Are you in?"

"I'm a little busy, Headmaster," Snape said wearily to the floor.

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "Shall I come back at a more convenient time?"

Snape's eyes closed and his lips parted with a sigh. "Is there such a thing?" he said in a low voice to himself. "It _is_ rather late, Headmaster," he said a bit louder so that Dumbledore could hear him.

"Yes, it is, isn't it," Dumbledore said. "I was afraid you would be out all night."

"I am a bit more responsible than that, Headmaster," Snape said.

"Yes, you certainly are," Dumbledore said. Harry could imagine the headmaster nod his head as he said those words. "Perhaps we should talk in the morning? After breakfast, of course."

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape said even as his lip curled. "But I really should get ready for bed."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Until tomorrow, then." Snape tucked his chin against his chest, his eyes drifting closed. "Also, Severus," the headmaster continued, still on the other side of the door, "please read the materials I sent you as soon as you can. It seems that Poppy is desperate for a chance to read them as well."

Snape's nostrils flared. "As soon as I find then, Headmaster," he said in a sing-song voice.

"They're on the table next to the door, Severus," Dumbledore said, sounding a bit annoyed with Snape. "I doubt you could miss them."

Harry glanced over at the table, his eyes focusing on the bundle with the blue ribbon. He had to admit that the ribbon did make the bundle a bit more noticeable.

"Since you insist," Snape said, dragging himself into a sitting position, "I'll read them tonight."

"I'm certain you'll find them very informative," Professor Dumbledore said. Snape made a face at the words. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Snape said, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands before pulling himself back onto his feet. He was shaking a bit less as he came to stand in front of the table. He tugged the ribbon loose, grabbed one of the scrolls Professor Dumbledore left him, and unrolled it.

Snape read the scroll for a couple of minutes, his face unreadable at first. As he continued reading, however, the scowl on his face became more and more pronounced before he turned and, with a snarl, threw the scroll at Harry's head.

Harry ducked, barely avoiding being hit by the parchment, and kept his head low as Snape started throwing all of the scrolls and manuscripts towards Harry's hiding spot by the sofa. "Rubbish!" he yelled, chucking a small hardcover book. "Tripe!" He grabbed one of the pieces of rubbish on the table and threw that as well. He swayed and fell back against the table, agitated and out of breath.

Snape stared down at his knees as Harry cautiously peered at the professor from the other side of the sofa. He was silent, his expression oddly melancholy, before he straightened and strode to the bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Harry alone in his sitting room.

Harry stared at the closed door, feeling completely out of his depth and out of step. Snape was just in the other room, suffering from his treatment under Voldemort's care, and had inadvertently left Harry alone with the materials Professor Dumbledore had left Snape. Harry's eyes were drawn to the opened scroll.

He should leave now while Snape was in the other room, but he still needed to know what Snape, Dumbledore, and even Dobby were hiding. He crouched down and picked up the scroll, pulling the Cloak from off his face to read it better.

The contents were written with an incredibly neat hand. The print was so much better than even Hermione's handwriting, but it was difficult for him to understand just what was being said. There were runic equations and Carian algorithms Harry had trouble following, much less comprehending, written all over the place.

The written explanations were no better, with phrases such as "passion matrix" and "empowered tranfigurementations" sprinkled throughout. The writer used so many buzz words and esoteric catchphrases that Harry could understand why Snape had gotten so angry. The only things Harry could make out were the phrases "the power of love" and "Hogwarts' love cupboard".

Harry glanced at the other scrolls, debating whether or not to untie them and look inside. Everything except for the small book was tied closed, and he was sure Snape would notice if the other scrolls and manuscripts had been read. Harry picked up the book and read the title:

**_The Magical Mister Seahorse  
_** _A Complete History of Male Pregnancy in the Western Wizarding World_

It nearly slipped out of his fingers in shock.

The bedroom door swung open suddenly, startling Harry. He hid the book behind him out of instinct as he turned to face his professor.

For a moment, Harry was afraid that Snape could see him. The Cloak was barely covering his face and, crouched as he was by the tossed materials, it would be hard for him to escape out of Snape's reach without making a sound. Snape, however, seemed more interested in the lit wall scones and were glaring at them, visibly peeved.

He waved his wand at the lights, turning them off before going back into the bedroom and closing the door.

Harry let out the breath he was holding in and slowly stood up from his crouch, the book still in his hand. He quietly, carefully made his way in the dark towards the office door, nervously staring at the light underneath the bedroom door, hoping that Snape did not decide to come out until Harry had made his escape.


	18. Chapter 18

There was an itch in the back of Severus's mind as he undressed for bed.

He felt like a mess, an utter catastrophe of flesh and bone. His hands trembled, his face was slack from exhaustion, and his bones felt too heavy to move.

He undressed slowly, letting the soiled clothing drop carelessly on the floor. Everything hurt. From his scalp to the corners of his eyes, the skin underneath his fingernails to the center of his arches. Every muscle felt knotted. Every joint was stiff. He would, at the very least, have to soak in something hot and medicinal if he intended to move properly in the morning. He lurched towards the bathroom, unable to shake the feeling he had overlooked something.

He was fumbling with the button of his trousers without much success when he heard a yelp from the sitting room.

Severus's head jerked towards the door even as he reached for his wand. That lingering itch in the back of his mind grew worse as a painful weight filled his stomach. He cast _Nox_ at the lights, plunging the bedroom into complete darkness.

He could almost hear the frantic shifting of cloth against skin coming from the other side of the bedroom door. Severus stepped over his robes and sneaked to the door as quickly and quietly as his feet allowed.

He took a deep breath to steady the trembling muscles up and down his arms. The rustling has stopped, but that did not mean the intruder had left. It meant the intruder was waiting for Severus to make the first move.

He wasn't about to disappoint.

Severus spelled the door to open silently. The sitting room was as pitch black as the bedroom. He could hear the intruder trying to control his nervous breathing.

 _Incarcerous_ , he cast, aiming his wand towards the door leading out of his quarters.

The intruder yelped and yelled, " _Expelli_ \--"

Severus countered the Disarming Charm easily, wordlessly Stunning his opponent before the intruder had a chance to finish. There was a thud as the intruder's body fell back against the door and slid down to the floor.

Severus held his breath for a moment, waiting for a retaliatory attack. When it did not come, he rose from the crouch he did not realize he had fallen into. The scones on the wall flickered on with a wave of Severus's wand, revealing what looked like a severed arm dangling from his door and half a leg on the floor.

Severus found the hem of the Invisibility Cloak and pulled it away to unveil the Stunned body of Harry Potter. Lovely. Just the person to make this horrible night worse.

Severus groaned softly through his nose, feeling the headache just behind his eyes grow. Potter had collapsed against the door, his left hand hexed stuck to the doorknob. The left side of his face was covered with large purple spots. The rest of him was relatively unharmed and only partially wrapped in conjured ropes.

Severus frowned. The ropes looked frayed and broken at points. They wouldn't be fit to catch a flobberworm, much less a wizard of even Potter's low caliber. They should have been stronger. His magic should have been stronger.

Potter began to stir, causing Severus's unease to grow. Potter should not be waking up from his Stunning Spell so soon. He snatched Potter's wand off the floor and trained his own wand on the boy's face.

"You have picked a very bad night to break into my rooms," he said as Potter's eyes fluttered open.

"I can explain," Potter said groggily, his free hand held out in a placating manner. He struggled to get back on his feet.

"What makes you think that I am interested in your lies?" Severus stared down at the boy, daring him to look up at him. The boy met his glare with a surly look of his own. Potter was pure arrogance, and Severus found it so easy to hate him.

Potter's green eyes, offset by the purple spots, looked decisively poisonous. " _Legilimens_ ," Severus said, pushing his way into Potter's mind.

The first thing he saw was himself on the floor, his robes open and his injuries exposed… Potter was trying to push him out, desperate to keep him out of his mind. _…Auror Hutton taking advantage of Severus's fatigue…_ Severus felt his headache grow as he struggled against both the boy and the weakening spell. _…a scroll on the pregnancy…_ Severus grabbed the thread of that thought, finding a memory of Potter pocketing a small hardcover book as he tried to sneak out of Severus's rooms…

Severus's hold on the spell slipped, and Potter's pushing finally broke through, barreling into Severus's mind with all the care of a rampaging griffin. _…the silver case closing on a bundle wrapped in velvet… …the feel of Potter's mouth on his neck…_ Severus pushed back, just managing to kick the boy out of his mind.

Severus's body was cold and his head was pounding. Dizziness was threatening to overtake him, but he did not dare look away from the the boy. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his wand.

Potter was breathing rapidly. He looked ready to hyperventilate.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" Severus whispered, trying to think past the throbbing pain in his head.

"We had sex," Potter whimpered, his eyes so wide, it looked positively painful.

"You had to find out what was wrong, even when it had _nothing to do with you_!"

"Nothing to do with me!" Potter yelled back. "You… you had sex with me! And now you have these scrolls and things about pregnancy! MALE pregnancy? And why can't I remember the sex?" As soon as the words left Potter's mouth, his face turned the color of spoiled milk, making the purple spots stand out even more.

"That's why you were sick lately, isn't it?" Potter said in a sicken, disbelieving voice. Severus stalked closer. The boy reacted by trying to escape. The frayed ropes still around his legs and the left hand still stuck to the doorknob gave him little room to maneuver. "Why you were in the Hospital Wing yesterday." He went slightly cross-eyed as Severus's wand rose to point at the spot between Potter's eyes.

"Are you going to Obliviate me again?" he whispered, his back pressed against the door.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't," Severus said.

Potter didn't hesitate. "I deserved to know," he said.

" _Obliviate_ ," Severus cast, watching the boy's eyes go blank as his headache grew exponentially. His head felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside, and he fell to his knees. The wands in his hands slipped from his grip and he clutched at his head.

He hunched over, pressing his forehead against his knees. His body was shaking.

"Snape…" he heard Potter say in a soft, confused voice. Severus only let out a weak sob before collapsing completely. Potter's yells were ringing in his ears as the pain pounded him into unconsciousness.


	19. Chapter 19

Severus awoke in a warm, unfamiliar bed, disoriented and disconnected from his body. A heavy, almost suffocating numbness had settled on top of him. It was disturbing, if not quite unpleasant.

Opening his eyes was a struggle. A candle burned nearby, the tiny flame flickering in a draft. The high ceiling of the Hospital Wing curved above him. The shadows twisted into sinister shapes that turned his stomach. He shut his eyes. "How long?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"Just over an hour," Dumbledore replied, his voice sounding oddly muted. Severus turned his head. The pillow was warm against his cheek, but he could not feel the texture of the cloth.

"Headmaster," Severus said. The old man looked bright and out of focus. Severus squinted at him. "Why?"

"Why am I here, you mean?" Dumbledore mused. "Well, I _was_ the one that did the rescuing. Although," he paused to stifle a yawn, "I should be going up to bed myself. Long day tomorrow. I'll be taking your classes while you recover."

Severus's eyes were watering from the effort of looking at the old man. He turned his head away. "Recover?"

"Your magic is completely drained, Severus," Dumbledore said in a low-pitched voice. "And your body's no better, not after tonight."

Severus had endured worse, but he was too tired to mention that. "And Potter?"

"Harry's fine," the Headmaster said. "A bit worse for wear, but the spots are gone. And Poppy assures me the skin on his hand will grow back."

Severus scowled up at the ceiling for a moment before his face muscles slackened, too exhausted to even sustain an expression. "He knew," he rasped. "The Dark Lord. About what happened in class."

"Did he know about--"

"No," Severus said quickly. "That's still… between us three."

Dumbledore hummed in disapproval. Severus glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"I still think you should tell the other party about--"

"Tell Potter everything," Severus said, cutting him off, "then I'll consider it."

Silence stretched between them. Severus closed his eyes. Sleep was tugging him under.

"You gave me your word that you would protect him, Severus," Dumbledore said, pulling him back to consciousness.

"Have I broken my promise?" he replied quietly, his eyes firmly shut. "Have I not done everything you've asked of me?"

"I've never asked you to alter his memory." The old man's disappointment filled every syllable. "Severus," he said, quietly demanding an answer.

"… He followed me inside," Severus said. "I would never have let him in. You know that."

"But, why--"

"He heard you," Severus said, his tone sharp for all his exhaustion and numbness. "He found out. About _that_."

Dumbledore was quiet for a long time. The candle guttered noisily. "This is a dangerous habit you're developing," he said in a grave voice. "Do you plan to alter my memories as well?"

"I can trust you with my secrets," Severus said. "Potter, I cannot."

"And he certainly can't trust _you_ , either," Dumbledore commented under his breath. He sighed. "Hopefully, this lack of judgement on your part won't hurt us in the future."

Severus sneered. "My judgement is as sound as yours," he muttered defensively.

Dumbledore ignored the snipe and patted Severus's knee. "Just remember Memory Charms have been broken before." He took out his wand and gave it a little flick. Something popped open, bringing with it a noticeable hush.

Dumbledore pulled himself up to his feet. "Now rest," he said, the muted quality of his voice gone. "I'll come by tomorrow."

Severus mumbled a reply that was little more than a disgusted grunt.

Dumbledore picked up the candle and took it with him, only to stop at a bed across and to the right of Severus's. "Awake, are we?" he said to the person lying there, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

The person in the bed sat up. Even in the dim candlelight, it was unmistakably Potter. His hair was sticking out in all directions. His face was shiny with greasy potion residue. "Sorry, Professor," he murmured. "It's…" He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Would you like me to walk you back to Gryffindor Tower?" Dumbledore offered. "You might feel less anxious in your own bed."

Potter stared down at his lap. "What about Snape?" Potter said in a whisper that still reached Severus's ears.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected blithely, "and he has a bit more to recover from than you do at the moment." The old man paused. "Might I add how encouraging it is to see you show so much concern for Professor Snape--"

Potter's head shot up. "It's not concern," he denied immediately.

"Oh?" Dumbledore said. He tilted his head slightly towards the boy. "Then what would you call it?"

Potter did not reply. He stared back down at his clenched hands.

Dumbledore waited for a moment longer before shaking his sleeve over his injured hand. He gestured to the door with the candle. "Shall we?" he asked.

Potter did not look up. "Can… can I stay, instead?"

Dumbledore considered. "If you like," he conceded. "But only if you promise not to disturb Professor Snape."

"I promise," Potter answered in a rush.

Dumbledore smiled. He patted Potter's shoulder with his covered hand. "Goodnight."

Wonderful, Severus thought to himself as he glared at Potter. There was no chance of sleep now, not with Potter in the same room. Potter settled back into his bed, his greased face turned towards Severus.

Even in the dark, Severus could see Potter's eyes watching him.

Severus barely finished the thought before drifting back to sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

It was the pain that woke Severus some time before dawn. Pale grey light distorted the shadows, momentarily twisting the dark shapes around his bed into nightmarish distortions. Severus stared up at the ceiling and listened to the sound of his beating heart. He exhaled through his teeth, conscious of how each breath pulled at his sore, ill-used muscles.

He sorely wished he was in his own bed.

Severus slowly turned his head towards the bedside table, involuntarily gasping as the tendons in his neck and shoulders protested being moved at all. In the faint light, he could just make out the thin, black form of his wand, waiting patiently to return to its owner's hand.

" _Lumos_ ," someone whispered nearby. Severus froze, his arms still resting limply at his sides, as the spell filled the room with warm light. _Potter_ , Severus' mind slowly pieced together as he squeezed his eyes shut, the light aggravating the headache he did not even realize he had.

His arms shook and sweat formed at his temples as he dragged his body up. He slumped against the ice-cold headboard and fisted the sheets. Everything hurt, even his _skin_ ; Merlin only knew how he was to walk out of this wretched place in this state when he could barely sit up.

Potter sat on the bed opposite, bent over a small book lying open between his covered knees. The tip of his wand hovered over the pages as Potter fretfully leafed through the book. Severus glared at the boy, mentally commanding the idiot to look up, but the command clearly had trouble penetrating Potter's thick skull.

Severus took a deep breath and retrieved his wand from the table, gritting his teeth as every muscle group from his wrists to his knees throbbed from the strain. He exhaled as he brought his wand close to his chest, his fingers curling around the handle and sliding into their well-worn hollows and grooves. Potter read on, oblivious.

It was clearly time to remind Potter that he was not alone.

"Potter," Severus snapped, his voice raspy as it scraped its way out. Merlin, even his _voice_ caused him pain. Potter's head snapped up so quickly and so comically, it almost made up for all the pain Severus was in. "You should be asleep."

"Sorry, Professor," Potter said, hastily closing the book and shoving it behind his back. "Just…" His voice trailed nervously.

Severus' eyes narrowed, honing in on Potter's guilty expression. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing," Potter said, nearly cutting Severus off. He blinked rapidly as he mentally formulated a ridiculous lie to spout. "Just a book Hermione lent me earlier."

 _That_ Severus highly doubted, and if the boy was not going to tell him the truth, than he had no other choice than to uncover it himself. _Accio_ , he silently cast, flicking his wand at the book hidden behind the stupid boy. Hopefully, it might even smack the back of Potter's head on its way to Severus' hand.

The book, however, did not so much as twitch in his direction as a sharp, burning sensation ran up Severus' wand hand to the center of his chest. He barely had enough time to realize something was wrong before his magic began to tear through him like hot, jagged claws, determined to burst out of him completely.

How? How could this tearing, burning agony be worse than the Cruciatus Curse? Worse than the twisting, sharp pain caused by Ginerva Weasley's spell? Severus curled in on himself and pressed his hands against his stomach, as if the pressure would keep his magic from splitting him in two.

"Snape?" Potter cried out, his warped voice grating Severus' delicate nerves. He stomped and tumbled out of his bed, his wand held high. The too-bright wandlight burned Severus' retinae. He shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against his knees, praying Potter would just shut up, go away, and leave him to die in peace. "Madam Pomfrey!"

Discordant sounds echoed off the stones as the boy ran to bang on Madam Pomfrey's office door, all the while screaming the woman's name. Severus hoped the woman would show up soon, if only to shut Potter up. He clutched tighter at his stomach, biting at the fabric covering his legs to keep from crying out from the pain.

This pain was worse, he realized as Potter finally went silent, because it was his _own magic_ tearing through him. He drew his knees closer and rode out the pain.

"Severus," Pomfrey whispered as she patted his shoulder softly, as if she knew the slightest touch would only intensify the pain. "Severus, I need you to drink this."

He thought of moving his head, of lifting it from the relative comfort of his knees. His muscles were too tightly clenched. His magic clawed at his insides, searching for a way to spill out of his guts and onto the cold bedsheets.

"Lift your head, dear," Poppy soothed as she cupped Severus' chin and gently nudged it upwards. Severus let out a groan as the warm rim of a phial was pressed against his bottom lip. He drank the potion down greedily, desperate for anything that would make the pain stop.

As the warm, bitter-tasting potion filled his stomach, the pain began to recede. It was still there, tearing though his insides, but it soon became a distant, almost trivial sensation. Every single one of his senses deadened as the potion spread its warm bitterness throughout his body. He could barely see, much less feel, Madam Pomfrey as she tenderly laid him back down.

"What's wrong with him?" Potter asked, the impertinent boy.

"Nothing that a little rest can't cure," Madam Pomfrey replied. "Now, back to bed, unless you…" There was a long pause, so long that Severus considered trying to will his numbed limbs to move. "Where did you get this?" Pomfrey's voice had grown silent and low, nearly inaudible as the potion began to work on Severus' sense of hearing.

"I-" Potter audibly scrambled for an answer. "Snape gave … me."

"Why would _Professor_ Snape… you _this_?"

Severus strained to hear the conversation, but it sounded less like words and more like vibrations heard through water or stone.

"Because…" Potter mumbled, his words rumbling into meaningless sounds Severus could barely hear.

Because _what_? Severus struggled against the potion, against the numbing sensation. What are they talking about? What did Potter _say_? He tried to lift his arms, to do anything, but the potion's hold on his body was much too strong. It dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to sleep.

~~~*~~~

Four days.

It took _four days_ for Severus' body and magic to heal. He would had considered it a well-deserved vacation away from his dimwitted students if he had been remotely capable of enjoying it.

Madam Pomfrey fed him healing potions and sequestered him from the rest of the school for much of Friday, but there was a coldness to her demeanor that disquieted Severus. He could only guess as to the reason behind her suddenly standoffish attitude, but he was fairly certain his mistakes in dealing with Potter was at the heart of it. However, as he stared at the white dividers surrounding his bed, he knew it was only a matter of time before he gave her an even better reason to hate him.

"Severus," she ventured that evening as she bundled him up into a wicker bath chair, "about the books Albus lent you the other day-"

"Good grief," he groaned, the potions in his system making him feel very loose and unrestrained. "Am I never to have _peace_? I don't care about those papers!" He threw a hand out, very nearly smacking Madam Pomfrey in the face only to bang his fingers on the bath chair's steering handle.

Madam Pomfrey stared at him in shock before composing herself. "You didn't… lend those papers to anyone else, did you?" She forcefully tucked the blanket around his legs.

"Why, for fuck's sake, would I do that?" he asked. "Bad enough they were thrust upon _me_ , wasn't it?"

She paused, the corners of her lips dropping softly. "It's just, perhaps I thought you would share them with the other father?" she went on, clearly fishing,

Severus merely gave her a baleful look. "Well, I didn't," he drawled. "Now, can I go or do you have some other horrible thing to ask me?"

"You are unbearable when you're ill," she admonished.

"Lose your magic," he returned, "and you'd feel the same."

"For the last time, you did not lose your magic" she said as she pushed the bath chair out of the Hospital Wing. Severus kept a hand on the steering handle, keeping the ridiculous contraption from banging against the walls. "It's merely tired out and confused."

Severus waved for her to be quiet. He had heard her thoughts on the matter enough times already. The very last thing he needed was to be overheard speaking about his unwanted, unnatural pregnancy. The halls were empty of students, but the portraits had even less discretion than the idiot children.

She was the expert, of course. If she said his magic had become so twisted from maintaining the pregnancy (he still shuddered at the word) that the exposure to Bellatrix Lestrange's curses had broken it, then there was nothing else he could do but agree. Feeling his magic trying to rip him apart in retaliation was proof enough.

Severus' head lolled to the side, resting against the cocooning walls of the bath chair. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered to himself.

"You _look_ ridiculous," a red-faced little witch tittered as they passed her portrait. Madam Pomfrey snickered behind him.

"Oh, ha ha," Severus mumbled under his breath. He slumped further into the bath chair, praying that they reached his rooms without further incident.

~~~*~~~

The worst part, Severus mused as he stared up at his canopy on Saturday, his body still too stiff to move, was that his _magic_ had failed him. His body was a traitorous beast, continuously undermining him at every turn. His magic, on the other hand, had always been a faithful ally, always ready to do his bidding.

Now, however, it had turned against him as well, fighting his will. The Memory Charm knocked him unconscious. The Summoning Charm tore through his insides. Heaven only knew what a more powerful spell would have done to him.

All he had now was his mind, and even that seemed to be working against him. If he let his attention wander, his thoughts always returned to Potter. He dreamt of the boy's face last night, emerging from the shadows, his features frozen in horror and anger as he realized—

Severus pushed and dragged himself out of bed, gritting his teeth against the pain, in search of a book, an amusement. Anything to distract his mind.

The Headmaster paid him a visit on Sunday.

Severus was awake and relatively mobile again by then, though he could feel his mind slowly slipping into despair. His hand still burned from the Summoning Charm he had cast that morning. The confiscated pack of fizzbin cards on his table twitched under the spell and took a lot of coaxing to come to him, but it came all the same. A minor victory, even as his body still throbbed from the magical backlash.

Someone knocked at his office door, startling him enough to forget the pain for a moment. Lovely. A visitor, and he still in his nightshirt. He sighed, tugged on a spare robe over his nightshirt and shambled to answer the door.

Severus opened the door just wide enough to see who had come around to bother him. He quelled the unexpected surge of disappointment he felt at seeing the Headmaster standing in the hall, dressed in silver and blue and grinning like a loon.

"And he lives," he declared as he peered through the narrow opening at Severus. A hamper dangled from his good arm. "I swore to Poppy I would make certain you were 'taking it easy' and not doing anything to exasperate your condition."

Severus sneered and leaned subtly against the doorframe, careful not to open the door any wider than was strictly necessary. "The only thing 'exasperating my condition' is this conversation."

"How's your magic?"

Severus pursed his lips, irritated. "I can Summon objects now," he admitted with some reluctance, choosing not to mention just how much pain the spell had cost him. "I believe I should be well enough to teach tomorrow."

"Despite the fact that you can barely stand?" the Headmaster said, nearly laughing in Severus' face. "No, no, I think it would be better if I have someone else take your classes while you have one more day for yourself. It won't help to quell the rumours, but—"

"Rumours? What rumours?"

"Oh, that you're lying dead in the Forbidden Forest," he said lightly, waving his good hand a bit. "You would not believe how many students Hagrid had caught sneaking into the woods yesterday."

Somehow, Severus highly doubted that they were sneaking into the woods for a glimpse of his corpse. Nevertheless, if that was the only rumour his recent reclusion had spawned, then perhaps Potter had, uncharacteristically, _not_ blabbered to his friends about what had happened Thursday night. Did the boy finally learn how to keep a secret? Or, even better, did the Memory Charm he cast that night hold after all?

"But, of course, you are alive, and won't the children be surprised."

"Or mildly disappointed."

"Oh, none of that," Dumbledore said, pushing the hamper through gap and into Severus' arms. "We both know they'll be pleased to see you Tuesday. Now, I got you a few treats from Honeydukes for you, as well as a few get-well cards. No, don't pull that face, you love the attention."

He bloody well did not.

"And… I'll be leaving the castle later tonight," he continued in a softer tone. "Minerva already knows, of course, but if anything should happen while I was away—"

"I sincerely doubt anything will happen while you're gone," Severus said, cutting him off.

"Nevertheless, to be forewarned," the Headmaster said with a wink. He patted Severus' arm as he took his leave. "Enjoy the sweets."

Severus waited until the Headmaster disappeared down the hall before closing the door and retreating back into his rooms.

~~~*~~~

He felt exposed, opened from eyes to navel, as he sat in his usual seat at the High Table and watched the students file in for breakfast. He knew that it was utter vanity to think all those whispers and shocked gasps were for his sake, but he smirked into his mug all the same.

"Severus," Minerva said as she approached him. "Albus said you wouldn't be able to teach today."

"Yes, well," Severus replied, putting down his mug, "I find that I can. Hope that isn't too much trouble."

"No, not at all." She gave him a slightly narrowed look. "I'll just have to inform Sybill and Charity of the change."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "You were going to have _Trelawney_ take my classes?!" he hissed at her.

"She was free, Severus," Minerva said. "And it's no use complaining about it now that she doesn't have to, is there?" She huffed and took her usual seat by the Headmaster's chair. Severus ignored her huffing and finished his coffee.

Trelawney teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? Utter blasphemy. Burbage had no real knowledge on combating the Dark Arts, but _she_ was a competent teacher. _Trelawney_ would have had his students reading the entrails of a goat and divining proper counterspells for a bad horoscope.

He spotted Potter dawdling by the doors, staring up at the High Table. There was a soft, contemplative look in the boy's face that filled Severus with unease. Miss Granger tugged at Potter's sleeve, pulling him along to one of the empty benches, but Potter barely spared her a glance. His eyes are fixed on Severus's face, watching and waiting for Severus to slip again.

Severus sneered and helped himself to more coffee. It would be a long time before he allowed himself to do any such thing.


	21. Chapter 21

Severus was not sad to see April finally end. His robes still had bits of dirt grounded into the cloth. His body still ached unexpectedly, his insides trembling at the slightest provocation. His magic still rebelled against him.

However, as he strode down the garland-festooned halls and past the elves' attempts at horticultural whimsy, he was beginning to hate May more. The students had taken to ignoring their studies with a vengeance, opting instead to stare dead-eyed out the windows. The Headmaster had yet to return from his latest walkabout. Severus' very skin itched as the exams drew closer, torn between dreading young Mr Malfoy's final attempt at the Headmaster's life, and wishing that it would just happen and put Severus out of his misery.

He banged his knee on the potted hyssop shrub left by his classroom door. Severus could think of at least ten lucrative uses for the budding blue flowers alone, but if those elves think they could placate him with potentially expensive ingredients, they were sorely mistaken. He snarled at the plant and, for pride's sake, considered setting the damn thing on fire as he unlocked his classroom door.

Severus took three steps in before noticing the elves had not stopped with the hyssop. Tiny glass phials overflowing with pansies sat dead center on each desk. Daisy chains hung from the blackboard and the illustrated Dark magic guides on the walls. A pair of blossoming quince branches arched out of a large vase and over his lectern, dropping blood-red petals onto the floor.

Severus sucked in a breath through his teeth. He didn't know which was worst: that those elves decided to invade his classroom with their atrocious interior design ideas, or that they had used _pansies_ and _quince_. He did not want nor need the pansies to _remember_ , and the quince's red flowers, the ones that practically screamed "temptation" and "sin", were not welcomed either.

He grabbed the nearest dustbin and went to work, throwing every single scrap of glass and weed into it. The quince branches dug into his palms as he snapped them in half. The large vase crashed and shattered on the stone floor, spilling water everywhere.

He stared at the mess, his hands covered in petals, water, and crushed leaves. He took a step back from the spreading pool of water. Vase water flowed into the gaps and grooves between the stones, dragging red petals and green bark in its wake.

Severus pulled out his wand, more out of habit than anything else. His hand adjusted and tightened its grip round the smooth, dark wood. He rolled his stiffening shoulders. "It's a simple spell," he said through gritted teeth as he shook his arms loose. "You can cast a simple fucking spell." His skin burned with magic as he pointed his wand at the growing mess. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

An elf popped into view by the blackboard, startling Severus. "Professor Snape mustn't hurt himself," it said, ignoring the wand that had moved to point straight at its long nose. "He still needs rest." The stack of knitted hats on its head bobbed from side to side as the elf snapped its fingers, emptying the dustbin and clearing away the mess.

Severus froze for a moment before remembering his manners. "And what do you know about it?," he snarled. The elf—Potter's elf, he realized with some horror—took the empty bin from his slack fingers. "Or your master?"

The elf stared up at Severus, its nose nearly reaching Severus' shoulder. "Dobby has no master," it said with an insolence it no doubt had learned from Potter. "Dobby is a free elf."

Severus glared at the elf. "Then who told you that I 'need rest'? Potter?"

"Professor Dumbledore asked Dobby to make sure Professor Snape doesn't hurt himself," the elf said as it moved the bin back to its place by the door.

"How considerate of him," Severus said under his breath.

The elf popped back out of sight without another word. Severus glowered at the dustbin before letting out a frustrated sigh. His shoulders slumped as he put his wand away and brushed a few remaining quince petals off his lectern.

The day had barely started, but he had a feeling it was well on its way to being simply _awful_.

~~~*~~~

"Today," Severus said in a low voice that made the class of sixth years immediately fall silent, which amused him to no end. "You will be working with these." He tapped his finger on the flimsy cardboard box beside his lectern. The odds and ends inside rattled for attention. "Cursed objects."

Several of the students paled. Miss Granger's hand shot up into the air. "But, sir—"

"Three points from Gryffindor for interrupting." He plucked a plastic, brightly-colored Muggle watch out of the box and held it up for the students to see. "Your task is to first determine the curse on the object, then write 14 inches on both the curse and what method you would use to counteract it."

"But, Professor Snape," Miss Granger wailed, "we haven't covered curse-breaking—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Severus said. "If you have done the reading, then you should be prepared."

That started a small rumbling of unrest among the morons. Severus stared at the lot with half-lidded eyes and great disinterest. "Work in pairs, if you must, but the paper," he glanced over at Potter, who had once again taken a seat in the very back of the room, and Mr Weasley, who was paired with the know-it-all for, no doubt, _insidious_ reasons, "will not be a joint effort. Duplicates will be thrown away ungraded."

Young Mr Malfoy lifted his pale, drawn face to weakly smirk over his shoulder at Potter, who, for his part, was doing his level best to stare a hole through Severus' head. Severus blithely ignored them both and dropped the watch into the box. The cursed objects shuddered and jumped with excitement.

The students glanced about, their eyebrows furrowed and their heads low. Severus bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing outright in the cowards' faces. For a moment, his mind drifted away and he thought about the sweet rush of free time that having no papers to grade would give him, before spotting Potter rising from his seat.

The corners of Severus' lips curled down. Potter strode down the center aisle towards the box, his shoulders tense and his head slightly lowered. He glowered at Severus from over the top of his ridiculously thick glasses. Severus stared back with half-lidded eyes, his eyebrows arching, unimpressed.

Potter did not look away from Severus' face as he thrust his hand into the box. After a breath, he jerked it back out, a blue clamshell purse in his grasp. Potter looked at the coin purse, his eyes widening in disbelief before staring at Severus, as if expecting Severus to explain why the stupid boy had not lost a few fingers in the process.

"Your papers are due at the end of class," said Severus over Potter's head. He leveled a glare at Potter. "I suggest you get started."

~~~*~~~

As he prowled around the room, Severus could see that, in many respects, his decision to have the sixth years work with cursed objects should have been more thoughtfully considered. Curses were tricky to neutralize, cursed objects doubly so, no matter how innocuous the curse. He had, in fact, designed the task with the seventh-years in mind, but… _circumstances_ had influenced him to place the task before the sixth-years as well.

It was unfortunate that recent events had made several of the students, particularly the Gyffindors, reluctant to even begin their assignments. Identifying the curse or hex on any of the objects should take no longer than a minute, but Mr Goldstein was still poking halfheartedly at a pocket-watch. On the other hand, at least he was attempting _something_ ; a few, like Miss Parvati Patil, still had not chosen an item from the box.

However, fewer students finishing by the bell meant fewer rushed, badly written papers to slosh through that night. Severus could very nearly taste the boxed wine he planned on indulging in as he lounged the non-grading hours away and reminisced on this very moment. He would slump into his couch, glass of cheap red in his hand, and laugh aloud at the memories of Mr Corner's face as a hexed cufflink repeatedly shocked him and at Miss Granger's sweaty temples as she searched through her books in vain.

For the moment, however, Severus would have to content himself with the sight alone.

He stopped by Potter's table to give his feet a bit of rest and held back the sneer desperate to overwhelm his face. Potter stared dead-eyed at the clamshell purse gumming at the corner of his textbook while his partner, Mr Longbottom, waved his wand back and forth, as if intending to lead the cursed purse in song.

"I believe," Severus said, startling both boys, "the task is to identify the curse, not to conduct the Royal Philharmonic."

Severus' lips curled with dark amusement as Mr Longbottom's face went ash-white. He lingered by the desk and watched as Longbottom attempted and consequently botched an ineffective _Revelo_ , before walking away with a sneer on his face.

Oh, yes, he'd be raising his glass in honor of all his incompetent students tonight. He tapped a finger on Miss Bones's desk and held back a snort as the cursed belt in her hand whipped out at her face, nearly taking out an eye.

Potter let out a shout as his cursed purse leapt up and bit the idiot boy right on his nose. Severus couldn't stop himself from smiling at the sight. This truly was the lesson that just kept on giving.

He let out a very light huff of derisive laughter as Potter jumped up out of his seat and began to flail his arms. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for disrupting class." Potter clawed at the purse clamped around his nose, making little distressed noises as the purse bit harder.

"Harry, hold still so that Neville can Stun it," Miss Granger said.

Severus frowned. "Five points from Gryffindor for speaking during class." _And for attempting to ruin all of my fun_.

Mr Longbottom maneuvered Potter for a clear shot at the purse. "Move your hands!" The tip of Mr Longbottom's wand wavered as Potter struggled, the distressed sounds growing in pitch. Mr Longbottom pushed the tip of his wand right against the purse. " _Stupefy!_ "

Potter collapsed backwards, the cursed purse falling off his nose. He slammed his head against the edge of the desk before landing, shoulder first, onto the floor, his head bouncing hard on impact. Blood speckled the edge of the desk.

The class rose to their feet, their voices rising in alarm. "Stand aside, you imbeciles!" Severus said as he shoved students out of the way.

Mr Longbottom dropped to his knees, his wand shaking about. " _Rennervate!_ " he cast, the red light hitting Potter in the chest. The idiot boy did not stir.

"Longbottom, stop waving that thing around," Severus said. He knelt by Potter's head. "It's obvious you don't know how to use it." He lightly slapped Potter's cheek. The stupid boy did not wake.

He slapped Potter again. "Wake up, Potter." Someone was whimpering.

Severus pressed his fingers against the boy's throat, seeking out a pulse. Potter breathed against Severus's face as he pulled Potter's eyelids open. The boy's eyes crossed and rolled back. The side of the boy's head was wet with hot blood.

Severus' wand was out before he realized he intended to use it. His insides clenched, tensing up in anticipation. He cursed Potter and his own wretched ill fortune.

 _Resarsiscey!_ His magic ripped through him and down his arm like jagged ice. The spell flowed out of his wand in a soft green mist and settled gently over Potter's face. Severus' abdomen muscles went into spasms, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He curled up and pressed his wand arm against his side.

Potter breathed out a moan and slowly opened his eyes. The pupils stayed wide and black as he focused on Severus' nose. Two spots of color formed hot and red on Potter's wan face. His lips parted slowly-

"Professor," Miss Granger said, her wobbly voice cutting through Severus' thoughts, "is he…?"

Severus cleared his throat, his own face growing hot to spite him. He pushed himself to his feet and away from the idiot boy bleeding on the floor. "Next time," he said, tucking his wand away and leveling a glare at Mr Longbottom, "aim." His knees locked as another wave of spasms ran up his wand arm and down his spine. "Escort your…," _victim_ , "housemate to the Hospital Wing, and try not to bang his head on any hard surfaces on the way."

Potter slumped, dazed and white-faced, as Mr Longbottom looped an arm around Potter's waist and hauled the concussed idiot to his feet. Potter's head flopped to the side. He stared glass-eyed at Severus as Longbottom half-dragged, half-guided him out of the classroom. The rest of the students were still out of their seats, necks stretched to catch a final glimpse of Potter being shepherded down the hall.

Severus drew a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back and stared each student down in turn. "Do you not have papers to write?" They stared blank-faced at him. "Get to work!"

The students gave Severus sour looks as they shuffled back to their seats. Young Mr Weasley looked like a particularly unappealing tomato that was ready to burst at any moment, but Miss Granger had that disgusting calculating look on her face again.

Severus glanced at the clock and exhaled as another wave of tremors ran up and down his wand arm. His hand was sticky and red with Potter's blood. He discreetly wiped his hand clean on the inside of his robes and leaned on his lectern until his magic settled and the spasms stopped.


	22. The Sixth Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes lines directly or indirectly taken from _HBP_ , chapter 24, "Septumsempra".

"MURDER!"

Harry slipped on the waterlogged floor and fell to his knees by Malfoy's head. Moaning Myrtle's shrieks echoed off the stone walls, the sound ringing in Harry's ears. "MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!"

Malfoy's eyes flickered from Harry's face to the ceiling to his own hands as they clawed at his bloodied chest. His mouth hung open. His teeth were red with blood.

"No--I didn't--" Harry said. His own trembling hands hovered over Malfoy's chest. The pool of blood spread underneath them. It seeped into Harry's clothes. Malfoy's lips quivered.

The door banged open. Snape burst into the room, his white face twisted with anger as he pushed Harry roughly aside.

The professor knelt beside Malfoy and drew his wand. He breathed out an incantation, his voice no louder than a whisper, as he waved his wand over Malfoy's wounds. Snape wiped the blood from Malfoy's face with a shaky hand and repeated his spell, the tip of his wand tracing over the closing wounds.

Snape's voice grew softer and raspier as he cast the spell a third time. Harry's body trembled as his wet, blood-covered clothes drew all the warmth out his skin. Moaning Myrtle sobbed and wailed above his head.

Snape lifted Malfoy up to a sitting position and stared into Malfoy's eyes. "You need the Hospital Wing," he said through clenched teeth. "There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you--" Snape sucked in a breath and curled in on himself.

Harry pushed himself forward as Malfoy grabbed hold of Snape's shoulders. "Professor!" Malfoy struggled to keep Snape upright; a fine sheen of sweat covered Snape's brow even as he batted Malfoy's hands away.

"Up," Snape said as he struggled to his feet. He dragged Malfoy up to join him. "You'll need dittany for the scarring." He draped Malfoy's arm over his shoulder and took a step towards the door. At the second step, Snape's knees buckled, nearly dropping Malfoy back onto the floor.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's other arm. Snape shot him a glare.

"Let me help," Harry said.

"You've 'helped' enough," Snape said. Harry hooked Malfoy's arm around his neck, staring straight into Snape's black eyes the entire time.

Snape let out a huff before hefting Malfoy up a little higher.

They trudged down the halls, arm in blood-soaked arm. Malfoy leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder, giving Harry a faint little sneer as he put more of his weight on Harry. Snape kept his spine straight and his steps slow and measured, even as his face grew grey and tight. Whispers trailed after them as students stared and pointed at the blood. Harry's face grew hot with embarrassment; fear and guilt ate at his insides.

Madam Pomfrey barely glanced at the three of them before swooping in and guiding Malfoy to the closest bed. "What happened?"

"He was struck by a Cutting Curse," Snape said, standing stiffly. He grabbed hold of Harry's arm. "May I use your office for a moment?"

Madam Pomfrey looked between Harry, Snape, and the tight grip Snape had on Harry's arm. "Of course." Her lips pursed, as if desperate to say more, but before she could, Snape swept past her, dragging Harry along in his wake.

As the office door shut behind them, Harry felt the walls of the tiny office close in around him. Snape might look like he was half a step away from full collapse, but his glare was still hard and unwavering. The clock on the office wall ticked away in the silence.

"I didn't mean it to happen," Harry blurted out, his voice tinny in his ears. "I didn't know what that spell did."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And yet, you cast it." He crossed his arms, gathering his robes around him. "Apparently I underestimated you, Potter. Who would have thought you knew such Dark magic? Who taught you that spell?"

"I—" Harry started just as a knock on the office door interrupted him.

Snape's mouth twisted into a vicious scowl as he yanked the door open, only to flatten with cold indifference. "Professor McGonagall."

"Professor Snape," she returned, letting herself into the office. Harry spotted Pansy Parkinson flailing about by Malfoy's bed just as the office door closed shut.

McGonagall scanned Snape's face for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth, before turning her full attention to Harry. "Explain."

"Mr Potter cast _Sectumsempra_ on young Mr Malfoy," Snape said, his eyes narrow and his tone ice-cold. McGonagall let out a gasp and glanced up at Snape's face in disbelief. Snape did not meet her eyes, preferring instead to stare Harry down. "Where did you learn the spell, Potter?"

"I — read about it somewhere."

McGonagall stared Harry down. "Where?"

"It was — a library book."

"A library book," Snape repeated in a soft voice. Harry's throat went dry. "Do you know what I think, Potter? I think that you're a liar and that you deserve detention every Saturday until the end of term. Starting this Saturday morning at ten o'clock."

"But," Harry said, his throat tightening, "Quidditch. The last match of the—"

"Do you think," McGonagall said, puffing up and throwing her shoulders back, "that I will allow you to play after this? Students have been expelled for less, so consider yourself lucky that we are being so lenient. You should consider yourself fortunate that Professor Snape had been there!" She took a deep breath. "You will report to Professor Snape's office on time on Saturday, or you'll be facing more than a missed game."

Snape's head jerked at the mention of his office, what little color on his face draining away, but he did not correct her. He shot another glare at Harry before sweeping out of Madam Pomfrey's office. Harry saw Pomfrey stop Snape with a touch of his arm just as the door closed.

~~~*~~~

Harry wandered through the alleyways and corridors of broken junk inside the Room of Requirement, his heart and his steps heavy. Hermione had done little else than lecture at him, but seeing the looks on his teammates' faces as he told them he wouldn't be playing was nearly as bad a punishment as knowing he would be stuck in a room with Snape.

He had trusted the Half-Blood Prince, as much as a person could trust the words of someone they had never met. He did not know _Sectumsempra_ was Dark magic, and he was sure the Prince didn't know either, no matter what Hermione said.

In his own way, the Prince was a friend, and Harry couldn't betray that friend even now. He'd rather tuck it away somewhere safe than to let McGonagall or Snape confiscate and destroy the old Potions book.

He stuffed the Prince's book into a large, blistered cabinet, silently vowing to come back to the book before the end of term. He pushed the ugly bust of some forgotten warlock in front of the cabinet to act as its guard. He plopped a ratty wig and an old tiara on top of the warlock and blinked away the dust before leaving.

The next few days were hard. Harry couldn't look at any of his teammates in the eye for fear of seeing anger and disappointment there. He especially steered clear of Ginny, who would play as Seeker in his place. She defended him against Hermione, but as he walked down to the dungeons Saturday morning, his heart clenched with guilt.

Snape looked about as pleased to see him at his office door as Harry was to be there, but a malicious sneer soon twisted his lips as he presented Harry with the tedious task he had set up for Harry's punishment.

Within an hour, Harry's hand started to cramp up from gripping the quill too tight. His nose itched from the dust on the cards. He glanced over at the clock, but it had only been five minutes since the last time he had checked the time. Harry could have swore he had been at this for much longer.

Snape did not look up from his reading. The man had said nothing in all this time, but it was almost a relief. He did not think he could bear Snape's bitter remarks on top of everything else.

He stared at Snape for a bit longer, wondering if the man's eyes were even moving, or if the gloom was making Harry see things. Snape's eyes flickered up from the page, shooting Harry a glare.

Harry ducked his head before remembering that he did not care if his staring was making Snape uncomfortable. He hated the man, and he didn't care if he was—

He gritted his teeth as he wrote out the next card. Sirius Black. Released dung bomb outside Transfigurations classroom. Detention. The words barely registered, his mind still on Snape, on how the color drained from Snape's face as he healed Draco.

It reminded Harry of how Snape had fallen ill less than a month ago. Harry still had no idea what had happened to Snape, despite sneaking into his private room and—a faint shudder ran up his spine—watching Snape being chatted up by an Auror, and his memories of that night were hazy and hard to pin down. Even so, he could see something was still taking its toll.

Perhaps the answer had been in the book he had found in his robes that night. He barely glanced through it before Snape interrupted him, and Madam Pomfrey had snatched it out of his hands without an explanation. His gut told Harry that book held the truth behind Snape's strange illnesses.

If only he could remember the title…

He glanced at the clock. The second hand dragged on.

The rustle of pages turning startled him. Snape leaned back in his chair as he read on. A strand of hair fell over his eyes. He lazily tucked it behind his ear, his black eyes never lifting from the page.

Not for the first time, a unexpected rush of blood filled Harry's cheeks. Thoughts of rough kisses and hot, hard hands flickered though his mind. He ducked his head and tried to focus on the moldy, crumbling cards in front of him and not on the sudden urge to scream. He pushed the unwanted thoughts down, disgusted with himself. Of all the people to fantasize over, Harry refused to do it over Snape.

Harry chanced a glance at Snape, who was either unaware or uninterested in Harry's current crisis. The professor licked and grazed his bottom lip with his teeth as he read. His mouth softened, glossy and red. Harry could feel those teeth scraping against his neck.

This is bad, he could hear Ron's voice in his head saying. This is wrong and gross and— _Snape?_ But his damn imagination took the challenge and ran with it. He could almost feel Snape's bony hips grinding up into his, the smoothness of Snape's skin against his cheek as he pressed his face into Snape's back. He could almost smell it, could almost hear Snape growl for more.

Harry's face burned as he stared down at the cards. His eyes caught Sirius's name and his face burned all the more at the thought of what his godfather would say if he knew. His stomach and his head hurt. And Snape was mere feet away, completely oblivious to Harry's internal screaming.

He glared down at the cards, forcing the fading words into his head until he thought of nothing but names and detentions and pranks gone wrongs.

It was a fruitless struggle.

At ten past one, Snape dismissed him with a cold word. Harry barely spouted out a "Yes, sir" before hurrying out of Snape's office. The castle was silent, the match no doubt over. He dragged his feet as he climbed up to the common room, anxiety and nausea rolling in his gut. The Fat Lady gave him an unreadable look as she swung open.

The sounds of riotous celebration blasted out. People screamed with joy at the sight of him. "We won!" Ron yelled above the roar, the silver Cup held high in the air as hands pulled Harry into the common room. Ginny, hair wild and eyes blazing, ran straight for him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

For a long moment, it was bliss. Her lips were soft as she pressed them hard against his. Her mouth wasn't as jagged and rough as Snape's, all teeth and anger. Snape hadn't tasted like butterbeer. Snape's hands didn't slip into his hair; they pulled and scratched and clawed—

Harry pulled back. The room was silent. He could feel bile in the back of his throat.

Someone wolf-whistled and a few nervous giggles tittered out. He could barely hear it above the roar in his ears as memories, locked away in some uncharted part of his mind, broke free.

Ginny's face loomed over him, her eyes wide.

 _You had to find out what was wrong, even when it had **nothing to do with you**!_ Snape's voice yelled.

 _I deserved to know_.

"Harry?" Ginny said softly.

He was going to be sick.

"Snape," he whispered, trying to explain as bile filled his mouth.

Hermione moved first, taking hold of Harry's elbow. "Did Snape make you drink a potion?" she said, her voice loud and clear. "Let's take you to the Hospital Wing." She gave Ron and Ginny a look before tugging Harry out of the common room. Ginny took Harry's other hand as Ron handed off the Cup and trailed after them.

Hermione led them down to a second-floor classroom. As soon as the door shut behind them, Harry bent over by the wall and spewed yellow bile onto the floor.

"Am I that foul?" Ginny said quietly as Harry wiped his mouth. She sounded like she was about to cry.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and his fist tight, his stomach still rolling. He knew the sounds Snape made when he was being fucked from behind. _My, and here I thought we hated each other, Mr. Potter._ He swallowed down the bile and banged his head against the wall.

Ginny stormed out, wiping her eyes.

"Ginny," Hermione shouted after her. She took one last look at Harry before running after her friend, leaving Harry alone with Ron.

Ron inched a bit closer, a closed-off expression on his face.

"I messed up," Harry said to his sick-covered shoes.

"Yeah, you did," Ron said. He sucked in a breath. "She's loved you since we were little."

"I know," Harry said, cutting him off. "It's not her fault."

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

Harry watched a chunk of breakfast drip down the side of his shoe. It was his and Snape's and—there's a _child_. There was a child and he didn't know. He coughed up more bile onto the floor.

There was a child, and Snape and he fucked. How was he supposed to explain that to Ron? To Hermione? To _Ginny_?

He pushed his fists against the wall, clenching his teeth to keep himself from crying inside. He finally got to kiss Ginny, only for her to hate him.

Though not as much as he hated Snape and himself.


	23. Chapter 23

The Headmaster's seat at the Head Table stood empty Sunday morning, the ornate chair a silent void facing a sea of loud, gobbling students. He was expected to return that evening, no doubt armed with more impossible tasks Severus would have to carry out.

Severus tore a sausage roll apart with his knife and fork, his appetite waning. The entire year had been a growing list of impossible tasks. Gain the confidence of a paranoid teenager. Teach a dunderheaded sacrificial lamb how to protect himself.

Kill the man he had worked so hard to keep from dying.

Occlude against a powerful Legilimens. Deceive the world.

Forget and always remember.

He jammed some of the pastry into his mouth. It tasted like grease and ashes.

Miss Granger and young Mr Weasley walked into the Great Hall with Potter trailing behind. Potter's head jerked this way and that, his eyes flickering up to Severus's face before dropping down and away.

Miss Granger turned as Potter began to speak, his voice lost in the multitude and the distance. She said something in return, but he shook his head before ducking out of the Hall.

"Do you know what I heard?" a nearby Hufflepuff whispered, glancing at Potter's hasty retreat and leaning over the table. His head was tucked so low, his chin dipped into his porridge as he spoke. The other Hufflepuffs huddled close to hear. "My cousin said that Ginny Weasley kissed Harry Potter yesterday, and he spewed all over her."

His audience let out laughs and snorts in disbelief. "Your cousin is in Ravenclaw," one girl scoffed. "How does _she_ know what happened."

"Are you sure it wasn't Weasley who spewed?" another girl said. "Because, Potter?" She pointed her finger into her open mouth and made gagging noises to the delight of the others.

"Three points to Hufflepuff," Severus muttered as he ate the rest of the sausage roll. Miss Battenbridge made an excellent point, and it always behooved Severus to reward exceptional insight.

~~~*~~~

The next day brought with it heavy rains and an encroaching midday gloom. Severus lit the scones lining his classroom walls with a flick of his wand, hissing as he shook the pinched sensation out of his hand.

"Nearly healed is not the same as healed," Madam Pomfrey had said, scolding Severus after he had saved young Mr Malfoy's life. She had shoved a phial of restorative potion into his hands when he left the Hospital Wing that afternoon; it sat, still corked, on his desk down in the dungeons. He was not so helpless that he had to resort to drinking from another's cauldron.

He massaged the tingling away as the sixth years shuffled in, their voices growing soft as they took their seats.

Severus silently reveled, pleased that his very presence was enough to intimidate this pack of brash idiots into something akin to respect. As the students settled, however, one particular irritant was not among them.

"And, pray tell, where is Mr Potter?" he asked, his gaze falling first on the empty seat next to Mr Longbottom before flickering down to Miss Granger and Mr Weasley. "Fallen off his broom, has he?" A couple of Slytherins graciously snickered at his words.

Weasley glanced, wide-eyed with panic, at Granger.

"He wasn't feel well, sir," Granger said, a pinched expression on her face.

"Oh yes, I've heard about his sensitive stomach." Guffaws from the Slytherins now, as young Mr Weasley's face turned beet-red. Severus shook his head. "Well, for his sake, I hope he is feeling gravely ill," he said. "All the same, ten points from Gryffindor."

He ignored the mutinous rumbles from the Gryffindors and went right into the day's lesson. His eyes might have flickered over to Potter's empty chair from time to time, half-expecting that idiot to pop out of thin air and give Severus a proper target to rail against. Potter, however, never came, and, while temporarily enjoyable, punishing the class for Potter's transgressions only meant he had two more sets of badly-written essays to slog through on Sunday.

"And, please make sure Potter knows," he added as he assigned five N.E.W.T.s-level written questions on top of the ten-inch long essay on blood curses. "I wouldn't want him to miss out on all the fun."

Several students shot Severus disgruntled looks as they stomped out of the class. Weasley, face still bright red, muttered under his breath as he stormed out. Granger, however, held her head high, no doubt dreaming about all the glorious extra work ahead.

Lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder boomed through the silence of the empty classroom. Potter's empty seat mocked Severus, but he would not go chasing after the boy like a wronged lover. "Three points from Gryffindor," he said under his breath.

Severus watched the raindrops lash against the thick window panes and waited for the next class to shamble in.

~~~*~~~

Now, Severus liked to believe himself to be a patient man. He needed to be, after all these years of dealing with the incompetent, the untalented, the secretive, and the murderously insane.

Dealing with Potter, however, had always put a strain on Severus's patience. Even when the boy was not actively vexing his poor, overworked professor, his very presence brought a twitch to Severus's eyes. The sound of the boy's name pulled Severus's nerves taunt. The sight of his face raised Severus's blood pressure. Every moment spent away from Potter was sweet relief, until Severus remembered the numerous times Potter had wreaked havoc when out of sight for too long.

Part of Severus did not care. Rather, he did not _want_ to care about whatever emotional quagmire Potter had decided to wallow in this past week. Should he be concerned that Potter had not shown his face in the Great Hall since Sunday morning? His pet house-elf was no doubt keeping the lazy, love-lorn fool well-fed as he rolled about in his bed, heartbroken.

What enraged Severus was Potter's absences from _his_ classes. There were still things he needed to drill into the idiot boy's head before time ran out on them both. The boy still could not cast spells silently. If he hadn't shown improvement in the past eight months, there was little chance Potter would miraculously grasp the concepts Severus was teaching him now. Severus, however, refused to be disrespected in this matter and would drag Potter out of his pit of misery by the ear if necessary.

He idled over his grading, fantasizing about just that, when he was interrupted by a rasp on his office door. "Enter."

Minerva strode in, unexpected and undesired. She closed the door with both hands. "I take it you have a moment, Severus?"

Severus set his quill aside. "Minerva."

She stood in front of Severus's desk, her hands clasped. "You docked Gryffindor fifty points this morning," she said. "May I ask why?"

Severus's eyebrow rose. Surely, she didn't come all the way down to the dungeons to quarrel over a few points. "Potter has not come to class all this week," he said.

"Of course he has," Minerva said. "He was in my class just this afternoon. Moping over his love life, but still there."

"How fortuitous for you," Severus said. "I, however, haven't seen neither hide nor hair of the boy since Sunday."

"Perhaps he is trying to avoid you," she said. "You know that you're not the most patient person."

Severus clenched his teeth.

Minerva sighed. "I'll have a talk with him, and tell him that, heartache or no heartache, he's still a student. Although, I do feel sorry for him. Pomona told me the boy looked so dejected while shoveling dragon dung on Tuesday, she almost sent him to the Hospital Wing."

"I can hardly think of anyone who wouldn't look dejected while shoveling dung," Severus muttered. Perhaps Longbottom.

"He's probably too tenderhearted to face your ridicule as well."

"Since when have you thought Potter too 'tenderhearted'?" Severus picked up his quill and started on the work he had been ignoring before Minerva let herself in. He studiously ignored the unease that was growing within him. "If that is all?"

Minerva pursed her lips. "For now," she said. "As for the points—"

"Why don't you follow Albus's example and award fifty-five points to Granger the next time she sneezes?"

Minerva bristled. "Are you still sore about that? That was years ago."

"Don't pretend you didn't give Miss Brown fifteen points for smiling last month."

"She was sobbing—"

"Over Ronald Weasley of all people."

"Don't act like your Slytherins aren't equally as headache-inducing."

Severus shrugged. "Well, Mr Zabini hasn't started following his mother's footsteps yet." And Draco Malfoy was so wound up in his tasks, his only companion was a toilet-dwelling ghost. "So you Lions might have beaten us there."

He smirked at her back as she huffed and left the office. As the door slid shut, however, the smirk slid off his face. The uneasy feeling inside him swelled, crawling up his throat.

Potter had been avoiding him.

Severus ran a hand over his face. He sucked in a breath through his nose and waited for some sense of calm to push the anxiety away.

~~~*~~~

Potter hadn't shown his face at breakfast Saturday morning, either. Severus felt as if he was waiting on a ghost.

He didn't think he would literally itch for a glimpse of the idiot. He had stalked the hallways, walking the length and breadth of the castle multiple times, looking for Potter. Severus has developed blisters because of that boy.

So, forgive him the soft sigh of surprise that morning when, seconds before ten o'clock, his office door opened and there stood Potter, pale and diminished. Forgive his eyes for lingering on Potter's shoulders as they pulled out and back, on his chin as he jutted it out in defiance. On his eyes, wide and frightful, as he tried to stare Severus down.

Potter was not alone. His retainers, Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, stood just past his shoulder.

"I do not believe this is a tea party, Mr Potter," Severus drawled.

Potter's jaw tightened. "They brought me here."

"Indeed?" Severus slowly rose from his chair, a hand on the desk to steady him. "First you skip my classes and now you admit to trying to avoid your _very_ lenient punishment?" He sneered. "This certainly isn't the first time your heart has been broken."

Potter's shoulders tensed up tighter, but he wisely chose to say nothing.

"Sir," Miss Granger said, stepping up to stand beside Potter, her eyes large and pleading. "If you let us stay," she said, "we'll make sure Harry doesn't miss any more classes." Weasley fell into step at Potter's other side, his lips a thin, grim line.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at them. "You are grossly overestimating how much I care about Potter's attendance," he said. "Or lack thereof."

"It's fine," Potter said over his shoulder, his eyes still on Severus. "Just go."

Granger opened her mouth to protest. Potter shook his head; she scowled back.

"Harry, mate, are you sure?" Weasley stage-whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"Yeah," Potter said. "I'll be fine."

Severus rapped his fingertip on the desk, impatient for their little song and dance to be concluded. He half-expected the blighters to hug, kiss, and cry their goodbyes.

Thankfully, Granger showed some restraint and gave Potter a long, reassuring look as she squeezed his forearm. Weasley patted Potter's shoulder before they both finally exited Severus's office.

Potter's face was practically green as the door shut his friends out.

Severus waited for Potter to take his seat behind the stacks and boxes of dusty cards, putting some necessary distance between them. Potter, however, was frozen on the spot, his gaze darting from one of Severus's eyes to the other. His hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides. His lips were drawn into a grimace.

Severus scowled. "If you are going to be sick—"

"Why did you do it?" Potter blurted out. "Why did we do it?"

Severus felt his body grow cold. "What are you talking about?"

"What we did," Potter whispered. "I want to know why."


	24. Chapter 24

"If you are going to be sick—"

"Why did you do it?" Potter blurted out. His shoulders trembled from the strain of holding himself still. "Why did _we_ do it?"

Severus felt his body grow cold. "What are you talking about?"

"What we did," Potter whispered. Something in the boy's eyes shimmered in the firelight. "I want to know why."

Severus took a step forward. "Potter—"

Potter threw his hand out in front of him. Severus froze. "If you Obliviate me again," he said, "I'll make sure Dumbledore knows that I'm the other father."

" _Professor_ Dumbledore," Severus said as his thoughts began to race. He inched closer. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"My friend," Potter said. He stood his ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "He has my memories of that night. He'll make sure the professor gets them."

Severus narrowed his eyes. He hated when Gryffindors plot and scheme. All it resulted in was more fucking headaches for _him_. "You truly think he doesn't already know?"

Potter's eyes darted from Severus's face to his wand hand, his own hand hovering close to his pocket. "He doesn't know that it was me who you were with, does he?"

"You're underestimating the man’s omniscience." Severus took another step forward. "And what incriminating memories would these be, exactly? Of you sneaking into my rooms in the dead of night?" He spread out his arms magnanimously. "Stalking me from underneath that infernal cloak of yours?" he hissed. "Or are they of you, fucking me into the floor?"

Potter glared back even as his cheeks darkened with shame. Was he _daring_ Severus to enter his mind, to see the damning truths no longer locked away by Memory Charms? Would the boy _ever_ learn to close his mind?

“Are you really so willing to risk exposing yourself to the Headmaster in that way?" Severus said. Potter tensed as he drew ever closer. “What do you really want, Potter? Absolution? My undying devotion?”

Potter lowered his head like a bull ready to charge. His gaze was as sharp and unrelenting as steel. "The truth."

"There's no such thing as 'truth',” Severus snapped back without thinking. “Any more than there is 'love’. Or 'justice'." The bitter lies rolled off his tongue like pearls. “Perhaps the better question is, why did _you_ do it?"

At this, Potter stumbled back. "What?"

"You ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers that night, Potter," Severus said, his tone almost light. "Ripping them off my body." He felt the heat rise in his own cheeks. "To then fuck me from behind."

Potter took another step back, the color slowing draining from his face.

"So you _do_ remember," Severus drawled.

"That room—" Potter said. He could almost hear Potter's heart pounding hard against his chest, or was it Severus's own racing heartbeat that he heard? "That room did something to us."

"What are you implying, Potter? That a _room_ cast the Imperius Curse on you?" He sneered. "How vile it must be for you, learning that you lust after your poor, greasy bat of a professor."

"What does it say about _you_?" Potter struck back. "Are you so desperate for a fuck that you'd bend over for Harry Potter?"

Severus grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. The bottles on the shelves shook and clinked.

Potter bared his teeth. He clawed at Severus's hand. His fingernails dug into Severus's skin. He kicked, his feet brushing against Severus's shins.

Severus put all his weight into pinning Potter. His arm extended, his elbow locked, his knuckles pressed against Potter's chest as his hand tightened around the fabric. "Why did you do it?" he said, the anger and fear that had rested deep within him all these months rising into his throat. It sharpened his words. It amplified his voice. "Why did you do it!"

Potter jerked side to side, trying to pull himself free. His feet slipped underneath him. "I don't know!"

"That's your excuse! You _don't know_!" Something inside Severus was cracking. Things he did not realized he tucked away inside, things he did not even realize he _felt_ , filled his mouth. They threatened to choke him, to burst out like pus, like poison. He grabbed Potter's shirt with both hands. "You are _lying_."

"I'm not lying!"

Blood beaded the scratches on Severus's hands. "You're no better than your father," Severus spat. "Humiliating me. Debasing me. Stripping me of _any_ dignity I might have." His arms shook. His whole body shook. "But you had to go that one extra step, didn't you. _You_ had to do the _unthinkable_."

The glass bottles around them exploded and Severus was flung back. He crashed hard onto his back, his head cracking against the stone floor.

For a long moment, Severus floated in darkness. No sound reached his ears. No light reached his eyes. He stared up at the darkness, too dazed to move. But the moment passed, and he could feel a throb at the back of his head. His body ached, the sudden burst of adrenaline and anger knocked out of his body. The age-blackened stones above his head came into focus as a soft, gasping sound broke the silence.

He held his breath, afraid the gasping sound was coming from his own, traitorous mouth. He felt empty, as if the cold of the stone floor underneath him had drained it all away.

Severus lay there for hours, days, a lifetime, as Potter drifted in and out of the corner of his eyes. The boy's face was white as he dropped to his knees beside him.

"Snape?" he said. Fingers brushed against Severus's hand.

"Don't touch me," Severus breathed.

Potter drifted closer, the green of his eyes filling Severus's vision. "Professor, I'm sorry."

He wanted to hit him. "You don't even know what you're sorry for."

Potter was so close, Severus could feel the anxiety, the _heat_ rolling off the boy, even as his own body grew colder. Potter's knees touched his side. His hand hovered over Severus's heart.

"Get out," Severus whispered.

Potter drifted out of sight. The office door yawned open for Potter's retreat and closed with a pained sigh.

The clock ticked on as Severus waited for the warmth to return to his bones.

~~~*~~~

"I did not see you at dinner tonight," the Headmaster said as Severus lingered in the doorway. The fire burning in the office's fireplace had tinted the room, from the silver instruments to the Headmaster's white nightshirt, in shades of gold. Even the man's white hair glowed a soft, warm yellow.

Severus edged forward. His best robes smelled of dust as they weighed him down in heavy, dark fabric. His hands still tingled from the ointments he had smeared into the cuts and scratches. "I was not hungry," he said.

"How about some tea, then?" the Headmaster said, circling his desk. He stroked the underside of his phoenix's beak as he walked past the sleeping familiar.

"It's too late for tea."

"Come now, it's never too late for tea." The Headmaster smiled. "Take a seat, Severus."

Severus hovered behind the visitor chairs. He clasped his hands behind his back as the Headmaster busied himself with conjuring up the refreshments. Teacups, loose tea leaves, and a golden tea strainer floated through the air. Water poured from the Headmaster's wand into a Transfigured tea kettle. "I do not wish for tea."

Steam rose from the kettle. The Headmaster covered his good hand with his sleeve and poured the hot water over the loose tea leaves. "Then forgive an old man for indulging himself, because I certainly do." He placed a cup in Severus's hands. "They say a bit of weak green tea helps with nerves."

Severus closed his eyes for a moment as he steadied himself. He held the cup with both hands. "I—" He inhaled. "I need to confess."

The Headmaster paused, his own teacup halfway to his lips. "Oh?"

Severus focused on the tiny, swaying flowers decorating his teacup. A petal-filled wind brushed against their painted tops before disappearing from sight. "You need to know who the other father is."

"Severus." The Headmaster set his cup down. "I already know who the other father is.”

Severus's mouth grew dry. He pursed his lips. “He told you, then.”

“No,” the Headmaster said. “I've known since the night you lost your child." There was a gleam in the old man's eyes. "Buttons weren't the only things left behind in that room."

"You knew." Severus's teeth clenched. "All this time, you knew." The Headmaster gave a slow nod. "And when did you plan to punish me for—” His hands squeezed the cup, cracking the delicate porcelain. He hissed as the hot tea trickled out and scalded his palms.

The Headmaster pulled the cup out of Severus's hands. He patted the water away with his sleeve. "You punish yourself enough as it is," he said as he checked one palm and then the other for burns.

"You should be tossing me out on my ear," Severus said over the Headmaster's calm counterargument. "But you won't, because you still need a scapegoat. An executioner."

The Headmaster held Severus's hands, squeezing them as he spoke. "You are not a scapegoat—"

Severus pulled away. "But I _am_ the executioner," he said. " _That_ is what you laid at my feet, Albus."

"Severus—" The Headmaster raised his good hand. Severus jerked out of the man's reach.

The phoenix, awake now, chirped from its perch. Severus tugged his robes tight around his body. The small fire in the fireplace did nothing to dispel the sudden chill.

"When I sent those papers to you," the Headmaster said, his voice soft, "I had hoped you find some solace in them. Perhaps even a bit of insight into yourself. And your feelings for Harry."

Severus turned away at the sound of the boy's name. "Solace? Insight?” he spat. “From knowing that I _absolutely_ wanted him to—” He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Severus, that room isolates—”

“And amplifies emotions, I remember.”

“Not all emotions,” the Headmaster said. “Only certain ones.”

Severus stared into the flames. “Like lust and greed—”

“And love,” The Headmaster said as he moved to stand beside him.

Severus shook his head. “The things we did in that room had _nothing_ to do with love.”

“Severus--”

"Is that what you hoped for?" he said. "That Potter and I _loved_ each other? That, when all this is over, we'll clasp hands and vow our lives to each other? Have you forgotten all the promises you forced me to make?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," the Headmaster said, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the flames. The phoenix cooed from its perch. "Call me an old, foolish man—"

"Believe me, I have called you far worse."

"But yes, I had hoped this experience would have," the Headmaster gestured vaguely with his bad hand, "brought the two of you closer."

Severus sucked in a ragged breath. "Until the moment I am forced to kill you."

"It is, I admit, rather cruel of me." He cradled Severus's hand in his. "But when the time comes, you will need his trust. Protecting him from the truth has never helped matters, believe me."

Severus bit his tongue.

"Severus." The Headmaster looked at him from over the rim of his glasses. "Give me your word that you will not Obliviate him again."

~~~*~~~

Chairs scraped against stone and parchment crinkled as the sixth-years rushed to leave for their next class. Severus tapped his fingers against the lectern as he watched Potter sweep his belongings into his bag.

"Mr Potter," Severus said, his voice cutting through the noise as Potter all but dashed out the door. Potter stopped, one foot already over the threshold. The boy straightened his shoulders and turned to face him. "A word."

Potter tensed up but said nothing as the rest of the class walked around him. Miss Granger and Mr Weasley tried to catch Potter's eye, but all of his attention was on Severus.

Severus's skin itched under the scrutiny. He lifted his chin, exposing his neck.

Potter dropped his bag on the desk, planted his feet, and waited as the last of his classmates shuffled out. The door shut behind him with a muffled click.

"You did not serve detention on Saturday," Severus said, his voice a soft drawl. "So, you will report to my office for detention after dinner tonight." Potter's jaw clenched as he scowled. Severus crossed his arms and pushed his lips into a sneer he did not quite feel. "Is that understood?"

Potter's hands curled into fists.

"I said, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, is it 'sir' today?" Severus said. "How generous of you."

Potter glared back. Severus could almost hear the boy's teeth grinding against each other as he held himself in check.

Something in Severus deflated, disappointed by Potter's lack of reaction. He waved a hand to the door. "You're dismissed."

Potter snatched his bag and ran out of the room.

Severus leaned heavily against the lectern. He had pretended for months nothing had occurred between them that night; seeing Potter pretend the same should have reassured Severus.

Instead, he suddenly felt very hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next time: A victory party._   
>  _Next, next time: **The end.** (With perhaps an epilogue as well.)_


	25. Chapter 25

The sky grew lighter in increments. The moon had set hours ago and only Venus shone with clarity. Severus loitered by the doors that led out to the Malfoys' gardens, a wine goblet in his hands and a sheltered sorrow in his heart.

Dawn was still hours away, but he had lived through enough long, cold nights of the soul to know the rising sun did not always bring reprieve. He feared this night would last the rest of his haunted, ruined life.

He absentmindedly took another sip of wine, only to gag and choke on the sour, acidic taste. He swallowed it down, suppressing the coughs with the back of his hand.

This, he mused once he scraped the taste off his tongue with his teeth, was the embodiment of the Malfoys' fall from grace. When once they broke the seals of only the most exquisite (and expensive) of imports, they were now reduced to serving swill that was more vinegar than merlot.

Severus had drunk better tasting wine out of a _box_.

He pursed his lips and gave the wine a sniff before recoiling from the sour, smoky smell. He frowned and glanced at the others as they milled about in the large drawing room. Of the few still on their feet, the Carrows were making the most of the night, wheezing and giggling as they drank straight from the bottles.

Severus sneered. He would never consider them to be any authority when it came to refined taste.

The true experts, however, were the ones to choose the foul refreshment in his hand. The Malfoys huddled together on a plush settee set against the far wall. Lucius, slumped and unkempt, scowled and clenched his hands as Alecto spilled wine onto the rug. Narcissa sat on the other end, back straight and face as pallid and unyielding as ice, though the hand tightly gripping her son's wrist gave more away than she perhaps wished. Bellatrix slunk back and forth, darkly glaring at Severus from time to time. And young Draco, sandwiched between his parents, had spend the last half-hour biting the inside of his mouth; whether to fight off sleep or keep in a scream, Severus could only guess.

As for himself, he was exhausted. He could still smell the smoke clinging to his nose hairs. The fire that had engulfed Hagrid's hut burned bright in his mind's eye. The orange of the flames had reflected off Potter's glasses. It had sparkled off the sweat on the boy's brow as he Cursed Severus in vain.

He tried to rub the stench of smoke off his nose with his fingertips, but it lingered, like the taste of bad wine in the back of his throat.

He placed the goblet of half-drunk wine on a windowsill and stepped out into the chill of early morning. A peacock strutted through the otherwise empty garden, its snow-white tail not quite touching the ground. It suddenly let out a screech and took flight, its tail streaming behind it.

Severus halted in his tracks as the thick, scaled body of Nagini slithered into view, dripping mouth wide as she chased after the bird.

"Severus," The Dark Lord hissed in greeting as he emerged from the shadows. "Are you not enjoying the festivities?"

Severus bowed. "The wine, I admit, is not to my liking, my Lord. And I needed a moment away from the more, um, intoxicated of our number."

"The Carrows?" The Dark Lord gestured for Severus to straighten. "Walk with me."

Severus fell in step behind the Dark Lord, conscious of the giant snake weaving along beside them. They stroll down pebbled paths, past overgrown bushes and weed-choked garden beds.

"The wine was not to your taste, you say?" the Dark Lord said, not glancing behind him.

"It was much too vinegary, my Lord."

The Dark Lord sighed. "With every breath, Lucius and his family disappoint me more and more." They strolled past a bush dotted with tiny white flowers. "The son? As spineless as his father. The sister? A blood traitor. And their _niece_?" He snapped a budding flower off its branch and crushed it between his fingers.

"The one in love with a werewolf, my Lord?"

" _The one in love with a werewolf_ ," the Dark Lord repeated, a thin, reedy laugh escaping his lips. "A _werewolf!_ How utterly disgusting."

"I cannot think of anything more repugnant, my Lord," Severus murmured.

"To think that someone of such supposedly noble blood would sink so low as to fornicate with a _beast_ ," the Dark Lord said. He brushed the crushed petals off his fingers. "I hope your future children will not be nearly as disappointing, Severus."

The velvet-wrapped bundle stowed away in his cigarette case came, unwanted, to mind. Severus shoved the thought into the farthest reaches of his mind. "After years of dealing with other people's brats, my Lord, I cannot say I am in a hurry to sire my own."

"Pity," the Dark Lord said.

They walked on. The peafowl scattered and took flight at the sight of them.

The Dark Lord stopped and turned. His red eyes bored into Severus's. "Did he truly beg for his life?"

"Yes, my Lord," Severus said. The Dark Lord stormed into Severus's mind, and Severus gladly showed him the Headmaster's last moments on earth. The green glow of the Dark Mark in the sky had given the old man a sickly pallor as he slumped against the ramparts. His voice had cracked, ever so softly, when he said, "Severus, please."

He let the Dark Lord taste the acid-black hatred that had fueled his Killing Curse. He felt the shudder of pleasure rippling from the Dark Lord as he watched the Headmaster catch the Curse in his chest and his dead body fall into darkness.

The invasion was as brief as a thought. Nagini wound herself around their feet.

"Tell me, Severus," the Dark Lord said, never breaking eye contact. "Will you miss him?"

"Miss Albus Dumbledore?" Severus said. "My Lord, does Prometheus miss the eagle?"

The Dark Lord's mouth thinned into an empty smile. "You think of yourself as Prometheus, Severus?"

"No, my Lord. I only think of myself as a man, finally freed from the daily pecking of an overgrown chicken."

The Dark Lord laughed his high, reedy laugh again. He started back towards the house. Severus followed behind as gracefully as he could, mindful of the snake at his feet.

"I believe I will miss him," the Dark Lord said. "He had dogged my steps and thwarted my plans for so long. I still cannot quite believe he is gone. But with him, the last great barrier is gone, and the Wizarding World is within my grasp."

The Dark Lord raised his wand to one of the fleeing peacocks. " _Avada Kedavra._ " Nagini dashed towards the dead bird. "And Harry Potter," he whispered. "With no great Dumbledore to hide behind. His mother's protection will soon end?"

Harry Potter's last words echoed in Severus's mind. _Kill me like you killed him, you coward!_ He saw the blood on the boy's face. He felt the touch of the boy's hand between his thighs, on his shoulder. Severus gritted his teeth, pushing it all down. "Very soon, my Lord."

Nagini returned, a visible, peacock-sized bump in the middle of her body.

"Then it's only a matter of time," the Dark Lord said. He cooed at his snake, hissing as he petted the top of her head. "Good night, Severus."

Severus bowed. "My Lord," he murmured to his feet. He counted to ten and listened as the Dark Lord walked away.

He straightened slowly. His hand brushed against his cigarette case before pulling it out and helping himself to one of the Mayfairs inside. The smoke tasted moldy and stale, and after a few half-hearted puffs, he dropped the cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with his heel.

He tucked the case away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next time: **The End.**_
> 
> Expect the next update in two, three weeks.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Severus forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize. This isn't the last chapter. The night after the last update, my subconscious kicked me awake at 3 in the morning and threw an outline of this chapter at my eye.
> 
> Special thanks goes to the person who got my subconscious agitated that night by asking, "i wonder what Voldie will do?" Old Snakey No-Nose is going to do what he did in canon: obsess over murder, twigs, and murder twigs. Severus, on the other hand, has quite the time.

Severus stormed through the castle gates, head held high and sneer firmly in place. Lucius had, with great reluctance, lent Severus his finest black robes for his return as Hogwarts' new Headmaster. They were, indeed, were the most expensive, the most ostentatious robes he had ever worn. There were enough gemstones and brocade to choke a dragon, and the soft fabric caressing his skin was unlike anything Severus could ever afford.

They did nothing to keep out the chill.

“The last time I wore them,” Lucius had said, a faint gleam in his eyes, “was for a funeral."

"You must have made the most fashionable corpse," Severus had said back, a little light-hearted spark in his own. Then he smiled too widely, and Lucius hunched his shoulders, and the moment was gone.

Amycus and Alecto Carrow huffed and puffed as they tried to match Severus's pace. The two half-wits had spent the last few weeks pouting and whining because they were not a part of the Dark Lord's plans for the Ministry. They could barely contain their excitement to wreak violence and mayhem on the weak, defenseless children at Hogwarts.

Ah, yes, the poor children. The more rebellious ones would be running circles around the Carrows in a matter of days, and it would be _Severus's_ thankless job to keep the students safe.

Perhaps it was hubris on his part to think that he'd be able to rein in Amycus and Alecto indefinitely, but he needed to believe that he could.

Severus clenched his hands. Was it always this cold in Scotland in August?

Minerva met them at the doors, her arms crossed and her wand in her hand. Severus's sneer widened as he slowly walked up.

"You missed the funeral," she said. "And the wedding."

"I've saved the newspaper clippings." He stood toe to toe with her. "I've started keeping a scrapbook to memorialize this great new era."

"You have no shame," Minerva spat. "Coming here after what you did. Daring to take his place."

Severus showed his teeth. "Let me introduce to you our new colleagues." He waved a hand down at the Carrows, who were panting some feet behind him. "Well, I believe you've already met them. Though, perhaps in your old age…"

Minerva glared at him from out of the corner of her eyes. "Amycus and Alecto Carrow."

"Look at that, sister," Amycus said with a wheeze as he tried to stand straight. "She remembers us." Alecto tittered breathlessly.

"Amycus will be taking Dark Arts this year," Severus said. Minerva stiffened at the choice of words. "And Alecto will be our new Muggle Studies teacher, now that Charity has decided to retire." Severus loosely clasped his hands and looked down at Minerva. "Poor Charity," he drawled. "So passionate about Muggleborn rights. So willing to lay her life down for her beliefs."

Minerva's eyes grew wider. "What are you insinuating?"

Severus regarded his former teacher. He wished he could spell it out to her in plainer words. He wished for so many things, but however much he wished he could still call her an ally, he was alone. The only allies he had left were the portraits of dead men.

His sneer sharpened. "Inform the rest of the staff we are meeting in the Great Hall in thirty minutes' time." He leaned close. "And remind them they do not wish to join Charity Burbage in… retirement."

Minerva's dark eyes flashed. "Remember what happened to Dolores Umbridge, Severus."

Severus took a step back, unimpressed. "Don't worry,” he said. “I'll make sure to stay clear of any centaurs.” He swept past her.

The portraits on the walls whispered and turned away as Severus strode down to the dungeons. How could he forget that pink, tyrannical pustule? However much he loathed being indebted to that woman, her machinations and thirst for authoritarian rule had paved the way for Severus’s return. And he would be a fool to not anticipate the same backlash and resistance from the students and staff.

He, however, knew his enemies and the terrain. He hoped the castle would be on his side. He’d like to believe he'd fare better than Umbridge in her usurpation.

He held in a pained sigh. Too much of this new web Albus Dumbledore had asked him to weave for himself was based on _belief_.

On the other hand, Umbridge had not killed a beloved Headmaster for the position. She had been an intruder, not a former ally that had betrayed them without warning. If what ultimately happened to Severus was less traumatic than being savaged by centaurs, he would consider himself a fortunate man.

Someone had scrawled “MURDERER” in bright red paint on his office door while he had been away. The wards and locks he had spelled into the wood were broken. The door swung open with a touch.

Broken glass, torn papers, and ruined potion ingredients littered the floor of his office. The vandals had knocked over the shelves and set fire to the boxes of decades-old punishment cards. Severus's desk was splashed with red paint. The air was heavy with the acrid smell of smoke, paint fumes, and decomposition. Severus prodded at an eye on the floor with the tip of his shoe.

"Professor McGonagall do not ask house-elves to clean," someone said, startling him. Potter's house-elf sidled out from behind the desk, long, thin nose first. "She is very angry with Headmaster."

Severus stared at the elf, with its mismatched socks and Shrunken sweater. He nudged the door shut. "Why would she be upset with Dumbledore?"

"Not Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster," the elf said, its eyes large and glistening.

Severus took a long, deep breath. The glass crunched under his feet. "Why are you here?" he said. "Why aren't you with—" His tongue stumbled over the boy's name.

"Hogwarts is Dobby's home," the elf said. "Dobby promised Professor Dumbledore to help keep Hogwarts safe. Same as Headmaster Snape."

Severus stared down the elf.

It puffed up under his scrutiny. "Dobby is proud and happy to keep Hogwarts' secrets."

"And Albus Dumbledore's secrets as well?"

"And Headmaster Snape's," it said without hesitation.

"There are others who need your services more than I," Severus said. He stepped over the ruins to the hidden door behind his desk. The dried herbs that had hung over the door had been torn away, the branches strewed onto the floor with the rest.

"And Dobby will help them," the house-elf replied. "But Headmaster Snape must not feel that he be alone."

The door to his private rooms was still locked and warded. He touched the carved flower, tracing the curve of the wooden petals. He wanted to tell the elf that it was much too late for that. He breathed out the password. The door unlocked with a soft click.

"You want to help? Clean this mess," he said, exhaling a sigh at finding his rooms untouched. "And send my belongings to the Headmaster's rooms after."

The small knife he used to sharpen his quills was just where he had left it, buried under piles of now-useless essays and test papers. He pricked his thumb with the small knife and watched as a drop of blood swelled out. He smeared the blood along the side of his cigarette case, opened one of the secret compartments, and began cramming every book, phial, and remotely useful tool inside.

~~~*~~~

Severus had never been to the Forest of Dean before. Frankly, he was unimpressed and wished someone had mentioned just how _vast_ it was.

It had taken time to find the boy. He travelled through the woods, flying from one clearing to the next. He searched for the remnants of sloppy charmwork or a speck of dark hair against the white of the snow. He cast _Sanguinuipater Locatum_ using a drop of blood from Potter's… _issue_ , but the damned spell was just as likely to point to Severus as it was to point towards Potter's general location. He might have even prayed, albeit with a lot of swearing.

In the end, it had been through both his hard work and his good misfortune of spotting young Mr Weasley in the woods that led him to the clearing Potter had absconded to two days before.

As he dropped the sword into a pond some kilometers away from where he had seen Weasley, Severus's thoughts wandered back to speculation. Half a dozen theories sprung to mind as to why Albus was so insistent that Potter needed this particular sword, but so long as Severus was left in the dark about Potter's task, he doubted he would ever learn the answer.

Perhaps, when the Dark Lord was finally defeated—

Severus scoffed bitterly. When the Dark Lord was finally defeated, Potter would not be alive to tell Severus anything, much less what secrets Dumbledore had imparted to him before his death.

His Patronus sputtered and flickered out as he tried to cast it while bitter anger rolled in his empty stomach. He thought of Lily's smile in the dappled sunlight, of the warmth in her eyes one Saturday afternoon. He thought of the Christmas dinner he missed while looking for Potter, of the Christmas dinners of years past. He thought of the Dark Lord's demise, that nebulous wish of living long enough to see it to the end.

In the darkness of the forest, his Patronus shone like a beacon of hope. He wondered if Potter would see it that way. "Go to where Harry is," he whispered. The doe blinked slowly. "Lead him here."

Severus hid behind a couple of trees, erased his footsteps in the snow, and waited for what felt like hours before his Patronus returned with Potter in tow. He covered his head and face with his travelling cloak and peered through the gap between the trees as Potter discovered the iced-over pool and the sword lying in its depths.

The months on the run had stripped Potter's face of the last of its baby fat. No, not just his face, Severus realized as Potter began to strip down to his underwear.

Severus pressed his cold hand over his face, transfixed as Potter shivered and curled up against the cold. He had never seen Potter's half-naked body before, a tiny, frightened voice whimpered in the back of his mind. The faint wandlight reflected off the snow, cutting strange shadows across Potter's pale body and icing the hard edges. Severus's eyes darted from the dark hair on Potter's chest and belly to the lean thighs and back up to Potter's face, too afraid to linger but too entranced to look away.

" _Diffindo_."

The sound of the ice cracking jolted through Severus's body. He covered his reddened face with a gasp. Shame and self-disgust burned through him. He pressed himself against the oak trees, desperate to crawl into someplace dark and cold and far from Potter's pale temptation.

Potter jumped into the pond and quickly emerged, shivering and gasping. Severus's own body trembled, the cold making his teeth chatter. He refused to think it was some sort of empathetic response and hardened his heart as Potter bobbed in the water before submerging.

Severus clawed at the oak, his nails digging into the grooves as he held his breath. The pool had not been very deep; Potter should have resurfaced in a matter of moments, ridiculously overdecorated sword in hand.

As the seconds ticked by, Severus's lungs began to ache for air. Leave it to Potter to botch even the simplest tasks! Severus inched out from behind the trees, staring at the rippling surface of the pool. "Come on, you _fucking_ idiot," he growled under his breath. "Come _on_."

A flash of red hair drew Severus back behind the tree. He watched, helpless, as young Mr Weasley spotted Potter's clothes on the ground and dove into the pond after his friend. He pressed a hand over his pounding heart as the two emerged, throwing themselves on the snow-covered ground.

Severus's breath hitched as Potter coughed and retched into the snow. Relief flooded through him. His body sagged against the oaks. Damn that boy, his heart cried.

He flew away before he embarrassed himself further. The winter air blew the moisture from his eyes.

~~~*~~~

Some nights, Severus flew.

The days had grown warmer during the Easter holidays. Tiny, hopeful flowers dotted the grounds, but Severus could still not shake the cold. Potion making, once his long-loved passion, held no interest. Books and periodicals that he had meant to read gathered dust by his bed. The resistance in the school grew, waiting for Potter to return and lead them. The whole castle waited, the very stones vibrating with anticipation.

Severus had found three grey hairs that morning.

He hadn't slept in what felt like years.

The students whispered in the corridors about Potter. He's escaped again, they said behind their hands. Right out from under the Malfoys' noses. Young Draco Malfoy sulked through the halls, longing clear in the set of his shoulders, though whether he ached for his wand or for something more intangible, Severus was not the one to say.

Severus climbed up to the top of the Astronomy Tower just after two in the morning, his steps muffled and measured. The Dark Lord had come and gone days ago, Albus Dumbledore's wand clutched in his white, claw-like hands. The white tomb still laid open, Dumbledore's corpse exposed to the animals and the rain.

No one had been brave or foolish enough to try to restore it. Severus suspected Mr Longbottom would make an attempt, but with his partners in crime, Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood, in hiding, Severus did not believe he would try.

He stood at the parapet, glancing at the spot where Albus had stood that night. He Disillusioned himself, shuddering as the cold charm coated him, and stepped up onto the battlements. The Great Lake and the Forbidden Forest stretched out before him, vast and silver-rimmed in the moonlight.

Severus took a deep breath. The winds whipped his hair into his eyes and mouth. His robes flapped against his legs. He leaned forward and let the wind lift him away.

There was an art to flying, Severus remembered as he bobbed up and over the towers of the castle. Or perhaps it was a knack. He was never certain which, but so long as he did not think about failing, or about the ground, and simply let himself waft…

He floated higher and higher, spinning in lazy circles. The cold air grew thinner as he rose, leaving him light-headed as he drifted on the winds.

A soft laugh escaped his lips. The moonlight brought tears to his eyes and he laughed, breathless and a little bit crazed. He laughed over the treetops. He laughed at the stars. He laughed until his abdomen hurt and there was no breath in his lungs for more.

He might had lost consciousness from the lack of air at one point, nearly touching the moon one moment and plummeting towards the Forbidden Forest the next.

He glided to a hard landing, sliding on his side through the sand of the Quidditch field.

Severus groaned and rolled onto his back. He spat out the grit in his mouth and waited for his wildly beating heart to slow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect the next update in a week or two.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contain lines directly or indirectly taken from _Deathly Hallows_ , chapter 32, "The Elder Wand", and 33, "The Prince's Tale"… and 34, "The Forest Again".

On the first of May, Severus rose from another restless night and watched the sun rise over the grounds. Thin fog whispered through the dark trees of the Forest. The Lake was draped in a misty veil. Severus rubbed at his dry eyes and stroked his facial hair against the grain.

As the days grew longer, the tensions within the castle had worsened. Mr Longbottom had gone into hiding, disappearing from the Carrows' grasp and taking nearly half of the school with him. He had, as Alecto Carrow had bemoaned one night, "slipped through the cracks in the stones". She and her brother had taken to searching every rock, crevice, and rat hole for him to no avail.

If the rest of the staff knew of Longbottom's whereabouts, they had brazenly kept their silence. Severus, oddly enough, had _not_ been asked, and more's the pity for he was _somewhat_ certain Longbottom and his associates were tucked away in a secret room in the castle, waiting for Potter to lead them to battle.

("He might be in the Room of Requirement, yes," Albus Dumbledore's portrait had said when asked, nodding his painted head sagely. "Neville will find it very useful.")

Severus fished out his cigarette case from the pocket of his robes. _Useful_ , indeed. How long he had managed to keep other Death Eaters off the school grounds for the sake of 'education'? How often had he discouraged the Dementors from encroaching too close to the castle? The Carrows had slipped further and further out of his control, and Severus did not know how much longer he had before they defied his more lenient methods outright. Knowing the more rebellious students were safely inside their makeshift shelter eased Severus's burdens considerably.

He sorted through the different compartments of his case as the clock ticked towards six o'clock. Healing potions, poisons… he checked the seal around a bottle of Veritaserum. He plucked out a packet of True Love's Kiss before dropping it back in with a sneer. He debated over discarding an old phial of shark repellant only to tuck it back into the case.

No, it would not be long now, Severus reassured himself.

He locked the case and stowed it away, never looking into the final compartment, as the clock rung the hour.

~~~*~~~

As the Dark Mark flared to life, burning hot with the Dark Lord's unabated fury, Severus could feel dread and the hand of Death wrap around his heart. Was this the day, then? Would Potter return to the castle tonight? Had the time come for Severus to tell the boy he must die?

Rumors about Potter's brazen exploits at Gringotts were already circulating when the Dark Lord's message arrived just after sunset. There was little in the way of explanation, only a command and a warning.

Severus summoned the Carrow siblings, who scrambled up to the Headmaster's office together. They shared the same red-faced, teary-eyed expression as they rubbed helplessly at their burning Marks.

"Potter is coming to Hogwarts," Severus said, clasping his hands behind his back to keep himself from clawing at his own forearm. "The Dark Lord believes he will try to sneak in tonight."

Amycus and Alecto's faces brightened. "Did the Dark Lord say why?" Amycus said.

"How arrogant of you," Severus drawled, "to question the Dark Lord when you can barely bring a small boy to heel?"

Alecto paled as her brother sputtered, "I wasn't questioning—"

Severus waved his protest away. "The Dark Lord believes Potter will try to break into Ravenclaw Tower. _If_ either of you encounter him, you will subdue him."

Nasty grins split the Carrows' faces.

"And I do mean subdue. Potter is the Dark Lord's and should not be harmed, unless you wish for a fate worse than the Malfoys," Severus said, smiling as the grins fell off the halfwits' faces. "Remember that _they_ continue to live with their failures due to the good grace of their name and their fortune, two things neither of you possess."

Amycus's face darkened. Alecto looked as if she had swallowed a bitter fly.

"The Dark Lord might not be as… lenient and merciful with you if your incompetence allowed Potter to slip from his grasp yet again."

~~~*~~~

Severus sensed it the moment Potter returned to Hogwarts. The boy announced his arrival with a small twitch of a muscle in the back of Severus's neck, with the sharp, citrus scent of ozone in the air. The castle stones trembled with anticipation under Severus's feet.

"He's here," he breathed, the words barely audible above the crackle of the fire. He rose from his seat behind the Headmaster's desk, suppressing his own trembling nerves. He slipped his fingers around his wand and gave the case in his pocket a cursory pat. The Carrows had stumbled over themselves to stalk the halls around the Ravenclaw common room, desperate to be the first to catch the boy. Now, it was only a matter of time and good fortune.

His shaking fingers caught on the buttons of his robes. He clenched his hands and took a deep breath. Regardless of whether those two imbeciles found the boy or not, the Dark Lord was on his way, leaving Severus very little time indeed.

Had the Dark Lord become fearful for his snake's life yet? Would Severus finally be able to give Potter this one last message? Had Severus's waiting finally come to an end?

"Severus," Dumbledore's portrait said softly, cutting through Severus's thoughts. The oils could never quite capture the timbre of the old man's voice, the brightness of his eyes. "Be safe."

Severus felt a flinty smile curl his lips.

~~~*~~~

 He might have left the castle, but Hogwarts did not seem to agree. As the school began to mount a defensive, Severus could still feel the quiver of anticipation that emanated from the very stones. The itch in the back of his neck grew to a mild, unceasing headache as the battle grew to a fever pitch. The collapse of the wards had left Severus's skin cold. His body shuddered with phantom pain as the walls of the castle were blasted apart.

Still, he kept moving, his eyes darting from one face to the next. Potter was a reckless idiot who would dive into the heart of the chaos like a Niffler into Galleons. Severus needed only to find him.

Lucius crouched down beside Severus at the edge of the forest, where he had been casting hexes from the shadows of the trees for the better part of an hour. He looked at Severus with his good eye, the other having swollen shut. "Have you seen Draco?" he hissed.

"Draco? No," Severus said, taking a more careful aim at an errant suit of armor than he wished. "He isn't with the rest of Slytherin House?" Lucius shook his head. "Then he's in the castle, unless he—"

"He's not dead," Lucius said hotly.

"I was going to say 'defected'," Severus said. "As his father, which would you prefer?"

Lucius looked down at his feet, a sick, pained look in his good eye. Severus bit his tongue, fighting against the habitual urge to twist the knife.

A boom shook the trees as part of the castle was blasted wide open. Flames burst from several windows on the six and seventh floors. Lucius stared up at the carnage, horror and fear plain on his face. Severus's head began to throb.

"He wasn't in there," Severus whispered above the pain. "He's too-"

"Much of a coward?" Lucius said, the words hard with venom and self-loathing. "Like his father?"

Severus blinked, realizing he hadn't meant young Draco. "He's too resilient," he clarified.

Two masked Death Eaters pushed their way into the entrance. The castle had been breeched.

"The Dark Lord had sent for you," Lucius said, eyeing the entrance with a hungry look in his eyes.

Severus grew still. "Why?"

"He said there's a service he requires from you."

~~~*~~~

Severus's gaze fell first on the glittering ball that floated by the Dark Lord's side. The large snake writhed and spun within its magical cage in agitation. The starry glow of cage cast the Dark Lord's pallid face in shades of blue as he hissed at his pet.

"I have a problem, Severus," the Dark Lord said.

"My Lord?" Severus stared, transfixed, at Nagini. He felt a chill run down his spine as one thought repeated itself over and over again in his mind. He needed to find Potter. He needed to find Potter _now_ and _tell him_.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?" the Dark Lord said, raising Albus Dumbledore's wand into the air.

Severus's mind stumbled over the question. "My Lord," he stammered out. "You have performed extra-ordinary magic with that wand."

"No," the Dark Lord said, holding the wand delicately before him. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand..."

Severus's head throbbed. He could no longer differentiate between the phantom pains of the castle and the ice-cold fear building inside him. He glanced between the Dark Lord's white face and the snake, twisting and hissing in its cage. He needed to leave. He needed to find Potter.

"I have thought long and hard, Severus," the Dark Lord said softly. The slitted pupils of his red eyes contracted as they focused on the wand in his hand. "Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"

"No, my Lord," Severus said, unable to look away from the snake, "but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter." Cold sweat gathered along his spine.

"You sound like Lucius," the Dark Lord said, cutting him off.

The Shrieking Shack was so far from the battle. The dirty, boarded-up windows did not let in the flash of spell-light or the faint glow of far-off fires. The snake coiled and uncoiled, its fangs dripping and its jaw wide open. Severus was trapped.

"It is of you that I wished to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable."

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But—" He searched blindly for something, anything. "Let me go and find the boy, my Lord." He _needed_ to find Potter. He needed to _escape_. "Let me bring him to you. I know I can—"

"I have told you, no!"

Severus had dreamt of this room when he was younger. The dust was not as thick in his dreams, and the dream-room bore more than a passing resemblance to his childhood bedroom, stripped of all its furnishings, but he had dreamt of it. Of blood splattering the bare floor. Of a gaping, dripping mouth tearing into his jugular vein.

He looked at the Dark Lord, the echoes of those adolescent nightmares in his mind. "My Lord," he said softly. His hand grasped his wand. "Let me go to the boy—"

"All this long night," the Dark Lord went on, "when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner."

Severus raised his wand, his mind in a panic. He couldn't defeat the Dark Lord, not alone and certainly not against that wand. It was not just a matter of the Dark Lord's power versus Severus's ingenuity. Only when Potter died could the Dark Lord be defeated.

_Potter…_

"My Lord!"

"It cannot be any other way," the Dark Lord said. He slashed through the air.

A ripple of magic brushed against Severus's skin, and for the briefest of moments, he stared, helpless and confused at the Dark Lord's white face. Then the snake rolled straight at him, the glittering cage engulfing him, head and shoulders.

Severus yelled, raising his arm against the snake. He clawed and pushed at the snake's head, but its body was oily smooth and he couldn't dig his nails into the scales.

Nagini struck with unnatural speed. He screamed as the beast clamped its massive jaw into his shoulder. The venom burned through him like cold fire. He scratched feebly at the beast's eyes even as his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

"I regret it," the Dark Lord said, his voice barely audible above the roar in Severus's ears. The snake floated away, the glittering lights of the cage fading from Severus's eyes as the Dark Lord left him to die.

Severus's wand clattered to the floor. His hands shook as he tried to cover the wound and paw at the pocket with the cigarette case at the same time. Hot blood gushed out of him with each shallow breath. His cold fingers fumbled around the case. He needed—

Potter loomed above him, the gloom of the dusty, dark room unable to dim the bright green of his eyes. "Potter—" he said, the pain sucking the breath out of him. He pushed out his memories, praying Potter would take them and understand. "You have to—"

Potter pressed his hands over the wounds. "Is there any dittany?" he whispered.

"No," someone—Miss Granger— said.

Severus tried to shake his head. He felt memories seep out the corners of his eyes like tears, from out of his ears like wax. "Don't waste—" he said. "Listen—"

"I'm not letting another person die," Potter said. "Not if I can help it." He pressed harder. "Not even you."

"Take them," Severus insisted. He lifted the cigarette case at Potter. "Take-"

Potter stared, dumbfounded, at the case before a dark understanding burrowed his brow. "You—you can't just give this to me like this," he hissed. He pushed the case down onto Severus's chest, coating the case and the front of Severus's robes with blood.

"Potter—"

"Unless there's a Blood-Replenishing Potion in—"

Something knocked from inside the case, startling Potter. As he lifted his hand, a bottle of blood-red potion rolled out of the case and onto the floor.

"Harry," someone else—young Mr Weasley, no doubt—whispered. "This is—"

"Hurry up and open it," Potter said. He pushed hard on the wounds with one hand and cradled Severus's head with the other.

Severus tried to protest, his mouth too dry to speak, as Weasley popped open the potion bottle. They were wasting it, he tried to say. Severus was long past saving.

"Drink," Potter commanded, pressing the rim of the bottle against Severus's lips. The thick, syrupy liquid poured into his mouth. He struggled to choke it down.

"I got them all," Granger whispered.

"We should go," Weasley said, and in his delirium, Severus praised young Ronald's sensible thinking.

The Dark Lord began to speak, his high, cold voice vibrating through the walls as the Blood-Replenishing Potion filled Severus's veins with false warmth.

"You have fought," he said, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."

Severus searched blindly for his wand. The hairs at the back of his neck stood up. He knew the Dark Lord was not in the same room, but teetering at the edge of death had left Severus's senses in tatters.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you." The boy tensed, the grip on Severus's shoulder going slack. Severus grabbed hold of the boy's shirt as the Dark Lord droned on. He tried to speak even as his voice grew weak with fear and pain. Potter stared down at him, his eyes suspiciously blank.

"Don't listen to him," Weasley said.

"It'll be alright," Granger said. "Let's just go back to the castle. We'll need to think of a new plan—"

"Is there something in this stupid case that can heal you?" Potter said, confusing Severus. "Snape, is there something—"

"Yes," Severus managed. "But there's no time. The memories—"

Potter stuffed the case in his pocket. "Hermione, grab the Cloak," he said, trying to lift Severus to his feet, the imbecile. "We're taking Snape with us."

Both Granger and Weasley made sounds of protest. "What are you going to do?" Weasley said. "Carry him the whole way?"

"I can walk," Severus said, his head spinning. He batted at Potter's hands as he and Weasley hauled Severus up to his feet. "And you're wasting time."

"You keep saying that," Potter said as they hobbled to the tunnel entrance, Granger following close behind.

Severus underestimated himself. He didn't think he'd make it three steps into the damned tunnel. Instead, he collapsed in five and took Potter and Weasley down with him.

"This isn't going to work," Weasley said, rolling off Severus. "He's still bleeding out."

Potter yanked out the case and wrapped his hands around it. "Blood-Replenishing Potion." The bottle knocked against the case and tumbled out.

"Potter—" Severus said, slumped against the dirt wall of the tunnel. "I can't drink another—"

"Then how do we heal you?"

Severus laid a hand over Potter's. "True Love's Kiss."

~~~*~~~

 Harry's brain sputtered to a sudden stop. Snape's thin lips were pale and bloodless. His hand was ice-cold on top of Harry's. Dried blood had splattered across his sallow cheeks. Harry's heart pounded hard against his chest; he licked his lips. "True love's kiss?" he murmured, his eyes wide.

Something thudded against the inside of the case. A paper-wrapped packet fell out and onto the ground. Harry blinked at the package before tearing through the paper wrapping. Inside was two bottles and a small, round tin container.

Hermione grabbed one of the bottles. "2?"

Snape slumped farther down the tunnel wall, his black eyes half-closed. Ron covered Snape's wounds with his hands as he pulled him up to a sitting position, but it was obvious Snape was not going to make it to the school. Not unless they could heal him immediately.

"Harry, there's no directions on any of these," Hermione said, turning the bottles in her hands.

"Snape," Harry said, tilting the man's head back. Snape's eyes focused on Harry's face. "What do I do with this?"

Snape looked at the bottles in Hermione's hands. He tapped a long finger on the bigger of the two. "Pour one into the wound," he said haltingly. "Until it stops foaming. Slowly."

"It must be an antiseptic," Hermione said. She worked on the cork stopper, wiggling it out.

"Or the antivenin," Ron said. "Dad said it hurt like hell when they poured it on him."

"Ron, help me with his robes," Harry said. They tore the ruined fabric off Snape's shoulders and neck. Their hands grew slick with blood.

"Hold him still," Hermione said as she edged closer. Her hand was steady as she let a few drops fall onto Snape's wounds.

Snape screamed and thrashed against Harry. Ron swore as he wrapped his arms around Snape's middle. "They're going to hear!" he shouted over Snape's screams.

Harry held Snape's head against his chest. The man twisted in their grip. He groped for his wand and aimed it at the tunnel entrance. " _Muffliato._ Keep going, Hermione!"

Hermione sucked in a breath, pushed Snape back against the tunnel wall, and started pouring the antivenin into the wounds.

Snape screamed into Harry's chest as the potion fizzled against his skin. Cloyingly sweet fumes rose from the thick yellow foam as it bubbled and slid down Snape's shoulder.

Harry wrapped a leg around Snape's legs to keep them from kicking and held on tight. "Almost done," he found himself muttering under his breath. His hand slid over Snape's hair. "It's almost over."

After what felt like hours, Hermione pulled back. The bottle in her hand was empty. "It's still foaming," she said.

"Do you think there's more of that stuff in that case?" Ron said, struggling to keep Snape still.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Snape." Snape shook in their hold, the screaming subsiding to raspy gasps. His black eyes were wide and unseeing. Harry patted the man's cheek. "Snape, is there any more antivenin?"

Snape blinked slowly. "Harry," he said hoarsely. "Why are you still here?"

"The antivenin is still foaming," Hermione said. Snape's eyes darted about. "Is there any more, Professor?"

Snape looked down at his shoulder. Even the gloom of the tunnel could not mask the damage Nagini had done with one bite. The cloying yellow foam trickled out and down Snape's front, as did the blood. "It'll have to do," he said finally. He gestured weakly. "The second bottle."

Hermione leapt into action, grabbing the second bottle and working to uncork it as fast as she could.

"I must drink," Snape said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Might... hallucinate."

"And three?" Harry said as the cork popped out.

"A cream," Snape said. "Don't be… stingy."

Ron grabbed the cream. Harry tilted Snape's head back and held the man still as Hermione helped him drink the second potion down. Harry's nose wrinkled. "It smells like dittany," he said.

Hermione sniffed the now-empty bottle. "I think elderflower, too."

Ron pulled a face as he uncapped the tin. "I don't think I can handle smearing Snape down with cream."

Harry scooped a dollop of the mint-green cream with his fingers and slathered it into Snape's wounds. Faint vapors rose from his skin as the cream made his fingers tingle.

Snape's head lolled back. "Arthur?" he said almost entranced as he stared at Ron's nose. "Your hair's grown back."

Ron stared back, horrified. "You think it's a good idea to take him back to the castle?"

"Better than leaving him in this tunnel." Harry coated the wounds with the last of the cream.

Snape brushed his fingers against Harry's chest. Harry paused. "She would have been lovely," Snape said softly, his eyes rolling back, "with your eyes."

They gathered the empty tin and bottles. Harry stuffed the lot into the cigarette case and the case into his pocket. Hermione handed him a crystal flask full of silvery memories. "Snape's," she said before busying herself with covering Snape's wounds with the scraps of his robes. Harry pocketed the flask as well.

"Just how are we getting him out of here?" Ron said, getting to his feet. "You can't just carry him. What was that spell Remus used to make him move?"

Hermione's eyes brightened. She looked ready to kiss Ron. "Mobilicorpus!"

Harry pulled out Draco's wand. " _Mobilicorpus_ ," he cast.

Snape let out a tiny giggle as he rose a few inches into the air. "This isn't how you fly," he said.

"Shush," Harry said. They draped the Cloak over Snape and ran as fast and as carefully as they could back to the castle.

~~~*~~~

Harry froze at the doorway of the Great Hall, unable to take another step forward. The survivors huddled together and spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid their voices would rouse the dead. The Weasleys wrapped themselves around Ron and Hermione and mourned over Fred. Over Remus. Over Tonks.

He staggered back, his heart caught in his throat. He couldn't face them. His breath hitched. He couldn't—

He turned and ran, the faces of his friends burned into his mind. If he had given himself up before the fight, if he found the Horcruxes faster—

He slowed down in front of the stone gargoyle in front of the Headmaster's office, heart pounding and eyes stinging. "Password?" it croaked.

"Dumbledore," someone muttered behind Harry.

At some point during Harry's dash through the empty halls, the Cloak had slipped off Snape's body. It had tangled itself over the man's head, leaving him like a headless, mangled ragdoll, hanging in mid-air on invisible strings. In the sudden wave of grief, Harry had forgotten Snape was with him.

"Dumbledore?" Harry repeated. At the word, the stone gargoyle slid aside. Harry climbed up the spiral staircase with Snape in tow, taking two steps at a time.

The Headmaster's office was silent and cold. The portraits on the wall were empty, the headmasters and headmistresses missing. Harry stared helplessly up at Dumbledore's frame, wishing he was there now, before turning away.

Snape floated rudderless and headless beside him, his limbs dangling in different directions. Harry guided him into one of the visitor chairs. " _Finite_." Snape flopped bonelessly into the seat, the Cloak slipping off his head and onto the floor. The makeshift bandaging on his shoulder was soaked through.

Harry turned out his pockets, pulling out Snape's case and the crystal flask. The memories inside swirled and glowed in his hand.

"Potter," Snape said. There was a soft, sad look in the man's eyes. "We're running out of time."

Harry raised the flask to Snape. "What are in these?"

"View them to see," he said. His eyes lifted to Dumbledore's empty portrait frame before sliding shut and letting out a long, pained breath. "The case?"

Harry placed the case in Snape's hands. The professor cupped it, his thumbs slowly rubbing up and down the sides. The stone Pensieve sat in its cabinet; Harry hauled it up onto the Headmaster's desk and poured Snape's memories inside.

He glanced back at Snape, who silently looked back with hooded eyes, before diving in.

~~~*~~~

Severus's stomach rolled painfully with too many different potions in his body. He slipped a few fingers under the scraps of fabric covering Nagini's bite marks. The skin around the wounds pulsed hot. He was still bleeding; the antivenin had not cleaned away all of the snake's poison.

He trailed his blood-wet fingers down the front of his robes. Black hid so many stains. Pity about the robes. They had been a favorite.

When had the Dark Lord's hour of reprieve start? The hands of the clock ticked on, unhurried. The numbers blurred into indecipherable shapes. His thumb ran up and down the keyholes along the side of his case, his cold skin unable to feel any of them along the way.

Potter stumbled out of the Pensieve and dropped to the floor. The boy pressed his face into the carpet, gasping for air. Tremors ran through his body. His hands clenched into fists as he tried to hold himself still.

He sat up slowly, pulling in one arm and then the other. His eyes were dry when he turned to look at Severus. He looked pallid and tired, even as his cheeks flushed red.

"Harry," Severus heard himself say. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Potter said back, but that was not true. The boy stood up, his shoulders pulled back, ready to walk to his death. Severus held out a hand.

Potter's eyes shone so bright. There was a fragile hardness there Severus couldn't touch. He cradled Severus's hand in his and drew closer.

"You need to live, Snape," Potter whispered, his voice cracking softly at the end. He let out a breath. "You need to—"

Severus pressed a kiss onto the boy's forehead. The scar felt smooth against his lips. He could feel the boy's heart race. Potter's eyes were so much like Lily's, Severus felt the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He blinked them away.

"I will," he said, but he could not be sure if that was the truth or another placating lie.

Potter looked down at the case resting on Severus's lap. He pulled away, grabbed his Cloak off the floor, and with one last long look, covered himself with his father's Cloak and disappeared from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: an epilogue.
> 
> Expect it in one to four weeks.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and for reading this far. 
> 
> An apology: I had hoped to post this chapter sooner. I didn't want you to wait until mid-July (which is when my next block of vacation time begins), but I had overestimated how much writing I can do while working full-time.

Severus awoke in a hard, unfamiliar bed, fatigued, disoriented, and alone. Darkness shrouded his sight for a moment before a tiny candle by the bed flickered itself on. The curtains surrounding his bed swayed in the faint breeze created by a half-dozen bodies breathing and moving in the dark. A Healer strolled past the foot of his bed, the stains on her lime-green robes black in the gloom, and the bedding reeked of harsh spellcraft and stale misery.

He took a deep, measured breath. _St. Mungo's_ , he thought as a humbled awe filled him. He was _alive_. Dosed to the eyeballs with painkillers and too exhausted for anything more strenuous than flexing his fingers against the counterpane, perhaps, but _alive_. He had believed he would die, bleeding out in the Headmaster's office. He had struggled to stave off the inevitable, to keep his word to Potter, the potion bottles slipping out of his cold fingers…

Who had shown him mercy, he wondered, as he looked down at his manacled wrists. The grimy iron chains snaked across his lap, from one wrist to the other, and down between his covered legs to the foot of the bed. His fingers clawed at the sheets once, twice, before falling still.

Who had shown him mercy? The sleeves of the flimsy, pale robes the Healers had dressed him in gathered at the crook of his elbows, exposing his pallid arms to the candlelight. His left hand flopped over; the inside of his forearm shone pale and smooth, the Dark Mark that had burned under his skin for the past three ( _nearly twenty_ ) years gone. While he lay at death's door, something ( _someone_ ) had wiped Severus's sins away. His breath caught and rattled out. He closed his eyes.

Who had shown him mercy.

"Professor Snape?" a man whispered. "Are you—is something the matter?"

Auror Hutton stood by the foot of Severus's bed, one hand pulling aside the curtains to make room for his large frame. His Auror robes were black in the candlelight. A shiny, jagged scar cut across his forehead and down his cheek. "Your face," Severus managed to croak, his voice paper-thin.

Hutton flushed. He ran a finger over the scar. "Yeah," he said. "There was a bit of a scuffle at the Ministry this morning. And this afternoon. It wasn't too serious."

"… The time?"

"That I got hurt?" Hutton said. "I think it was just after two or three—"

"The time now, you dunce," Severus snapped. Pain and annoyance pulsed faintly at the edges of his dulled senses.

Hutton pushed his sleeve off his wrist and gazed down at his watch. "Just before five in the morning," he said. "The third of May."

Severus sank back into the mattress. An entire day had passed while he had lain half-dead and unaware. "And the Dark Lord…"

"Dead," Hutton said, stepping closer to the bed. "Harry Potter defeated him."

Severus closed his eyes. Relief and sorrow shuddered through him. "Dead." He scratched his fingernails on the sheets. The boy was dead, the Dark Lord was dead, and Severus lived on, alone and shackled, alive and free.

"They're saying it was amazing," Hutton went on, the high pitch of his voice rising with excitement. "Something about the Deathly Hallows and wandlore—I'm sure Potter can explain it better when he visits."

Severus's eyes snapped open. A thin, brittle "What?" escaped his lips.

"He even said you're a hero. But, of course, I've always known you were, Severus."

Severus clawed at the sheets. “Potter’s alive?” he whispered.

"Last time I saw him," Hutton said, "five hours ago, I think. He was talking to Shacklebolt and the rest of the higher-ups into letting you go."

Severus's hands curled into fists. "And the Dark Lord is dead."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Severus pushed himself into a slouch. The muscles in his neck and back screamed as they were stretched into motion. "I have to—" Severus grunted through his teeth.

"Severus, I don't think you should—"

" _Stop saying my fucking name!_ " He pulled at the sheets. Leather and iron shackles encircled his ankles. His arms were already shaking with fatigue, but if he had to crawl across the whole of London—

Hutton grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back down onto the mattress. “Professor—”

“ _Let go of me!_ ” He writhed underneath Hutton’s heavy hands. He _needed_ to find Potter!

“I need a Healer!” Hutton shouted over his shoulder. “Professor Snape, please calm down.”

How was he supposed to calm down when, apparently, Potter lived!? He dug his fingers into the mattress for support and pushed vainly against Hutton's weight. "I need to see Potter!"

"Stand back!" a Healer barked, shoving a wand in Severus's face. The woman waved her wand above Severus's head, filling his vision with blurry, blue fragments of light. An unnatural calm rushed through his body, rolling from the top of his head to his trembling limbs to his toes. "You must calm down, Mr Snape." She fished a phial out of her robes and studiously avoided touching Severus as she helped him drink the potion down.

It tasted like Dreamless Sleep, heavy and warm on his tongue. A placid smile softened his face as she pulled away. "Fuck off," he murmured.

The Healer shot him a glare before pulling Hutton away from the bed. "Auror," she hissed in a low voice, "I cannot have you exciting the patients." She glanced back at Severus. "Even if they don't deserve to be here."

Severus's eyes drifted closed, the dual effects of the charm and the potion pulling him under.

"Deserve? _Professor_ Snape is a great man," Hutton said, lowering his voice just enough to match hers. "Even Harry Potter agrees with me. And you're not sounding like much of a _Healer_."

"If you cannot do what you were assigned here to do, I will ask Healer Smethwyck to have you removed."

"I can say the same to you."

“For the love of god, shut up,” Severus grumbled as he sank into a deep, dreamless slumber.

~~~*~~~

The Aurors unlocked the manacles and gathered their chains three days later. Hutton gave Severus a reassuring smile behind the others' backs, and if Severus had his wand, he would have surely cursed the sex-starved imbecile's mouth off.

The Healers, however, were not nearly as ready to let Severus free. "The bite has healed rather nicely," Healer Smethwyck had said, poking at the wound when Severus had been both conscious and calm enough to not try storming out of bed. "Your… amateur efforts," the Healer had sniffed, "kept you from dying, but it'll still be some time before you have healed to my satisfaction."

Without the strength to stand, much less walk out, Severus was in no physical state to argue. He rolled his newly-freed wrists and ran a hand over his unMarked forearm, scraping his fingers along the blue veins. He did not think about his missing wand, or of Potter, or the frightening new world waiting for him.

Minerva visited in the afternoon, not long after the Aurors had taken their blasted shackles off him. The dark robes she wore made her look even more severe than usual, if such a thing could have been thought possible. She stood at the foot of the bed, clasped her hands, and gave him a level, steady look. "You're looking well," she said in greeting.

"The wonders of surviving death," Severus said. He crossed his arms on his lap, taking care to keep his left forearm visible. "You, however, are looking rather unscathed."

"Don't be fooled," she said, taking in the table by his bed, bare but for an unlit candle and a rose Hutton had placed there to keep him company. "I very nearly cut myself on some paper this morning."

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Returning from a funeral?"

"Two, in fact," she said. She took a sedate step to the side of his bed. "Remus and Nymphadora." She paused, no doubt waiting for a reaction, but Severus refused to give her the satisfaction. "You've missed several funerals in fact."

"I'm certain you will provide me with a list of the deceased in time," he said. "However, most of the Aurory had already cast that hex. It was all they wished to discuss with me." Apart from Hutton, who at turns played both well-wisher and lapdog, and never silent guard.

"No doubt they had," Minerva said. She tucked a hand into her sleeve and pulled out Severus's wand. "I have been tasked with returning this to you." She held it out to him handle-first, balancing it between her thumb and forefinger.

Severus eyed the wand, the carved handle worn smooth with years of unwavering service. There must be some trick, some trap that he was too tired and infirm to see, and he was in no mood for Gryffindor cunning. “Who had it?”

“Hermione Granger.” _Another cunning Gryffindor_ , he thought with a sigh. “She held onto it for you while you recovered from your…"

"Injuries?"

"Legal troubles." She pursed her lips and, when he did not immediately take his wand back, sighed and laid it on the bed beside his thigh.

Severus made no move to pick it up. "Are you so confident that I wouldn't do to you what you nearly did to me five days ago?"

She scoffed. "You can barely keep your head upright," she said, eyeing the empty chair on the other side of the ward before Conjuring one for herself. "I hardly think you have the strength for even a Levitation spell." She settled into her plush, tartan-upholstered chair and rested her clasped hands on her lap.

God, he hated it whenever she squared her shoulders that way. It made him feel like a supplicant at her majesty's beck and call. He stroked a finger over his wand.

Minerva scowled at the empty chair. "Has Harry paid a visit?" she asked.

He curled his fingers around the handle of his wand, seeking that familiar weight to steady him. "If he had, it wasn't when I was conscious."

Her lips stretched out into a thin, disapproving line. "That boy." She shook her head before focusing her steely green gaze at Severus. "He had led me to believe that he had done so."

Severus cradled his wand with both hands. He examined it for scratches and speckles of blood. "He is no doubt too busy gallivanting about, revelling in his fame." Living, breathing… Had Dumbledore suspected Potter would survive the Dark Lord's Killing Curse a second time? Perhaps it was that boy's ineffable luck that had helped him survive yet again.

"If by that you mean, using all of his abilities to talk what's left of the Ministry into exonerating you, then yes, he has," Minerva said.

Severus rubbed at an odd stain near the tip of his wand. He wanted to bite out that he didn't need Potter championing him to the Ministry, that he was old enough and strong enough to not need that brat's fumbling attempts at repayment.

“He calls you the bravest man he knows,” Minerva said, pulling her shoulders into such a painfully straight line, Severus's own shoulders winced. “Told Tom Riddle right to his face that you are Albus’s man through and through.” She glanced again at the empty chair. "I only wish I had remembered that."

Severus glanced at the chair as well, half-expecting Potter's sneakered foot or disembodied hand to appear. " _Accio_ silver threads," he mumbled, oddly disappointed that Potter was not there after all. He sighed.

"I knew the sort of man Albus was," Minerva said softly. "More than most, I dare say, after all these years." She balled her hands into fists. "He always said he trusted you, and when you killed him, I couldn't believe—" She stared down at her hands. "Even after Harry had shown me those memories, I didn't think I could ever forgive you. But if I had known what Albus had planned, if he had confided in me—"

"No one was to know," Severus said. "Too much had been in stake, and if the Dark Lord had known for even a moment—" He exhaled. His fingertips were rust-red. "Not only would my life had been forfeit, the school would have fallen into someone else's less… compassionate hands." And Potter would not have known a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul festered on inside of him. He wouldn't have sacrificed himself so completely on the word of a dying man.

Severus wiped his fingers on the sheets, leaving faint red streaks on the cotton. "As for forgiveness—"

"He shouldn't have put that burden on you alone."

Severus shook his head. The loneliness had been almost unbearable, certainly, but he had not been alone. He had the portraits of the late Headmasters that watched over him all year, the house-elves that kept Hogwarts' secrets, down to the very stones of the castle, all carrying some of his burden. Although, perhaps that was not the burden to which Minerva was referring. "Nevertheless—"

"No, not nevertheless." Color rose to her cheeks. "If we had known—" Her voice cracked.

Severus placed a hand on top of one of hers. She fell silent and still at the touch. She looked as shocked as he felt at his boldness. He couldn't remember the last time he had touched her, much less another human being, with gentleness. His fingers twitched as they recalled the roughness of Potter's face in the dark.

A thousand sentiments coated Severus's tongue, each one saccharine and disgustingly, uselessly trite. The dead were dead. Yes, Albus was gone, but so was the Dark Lord, and however much it frightened Severus in the tiny, cold recesses in his soul, he was alive, as was she and Harry bleeding Potter and the world they had fought and sacrificed so much to protect. They had survived; let that be enough. He squeezed her hand once, swallowing down those thousand sentiments, thick and unutterable, before pulling away.

Minerva sniffed, wiped at the corner of her eyes and glanced at the chair on the other side of the ward. A tall witch in dotted robes had dragged it closer to one of the occupied beds, where she chatted quietly to a Healer.

"Albus," Severus choked out. He cleared his throat. The afternoon light shone along the shaft of his wand. "Every time I ended up in hospital," he said quietly, "Albus would visit and Conjure up the most hideously obnoxious tea sets."

"He did, didn't he," Minerva said as she gazed out into the middle distance. "Said it was to give us something else to focus on instead of…" She blinked rapidly and shook her head as if to dispel some dark memory. She spread out her fingers before slowly curling them up around her knees. "He once served me out of a peacock-shaped tea pot," she said. "It screamed when the tea was ready, and kept pecking at my hand."

"I once got a realistic comet up my nose."

Minerva's thin mouth lifted slightly at the corners. "Better a comet than a caterpillar in the sugar bowl."

Severus's smile was a tiny, hesitant thing, scarcely a smile at all, but if felt soft and new. And a weight Severus had not realized he was carrying suddenly fell away.

~~~*~~~

As Minerva readied herself to leave, she said, "Will you be returning to Hogwarts?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I was led to belief I was sacked that night."

"Yes, well, you're still the Headmaster," she said. She adjusted her hat. "As well you know."

Indeed, he did. Distance might have dulled the faint throb, but if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel them: every misplaced stone, every distressed and broken ward, every empty corridor. "I resign."

Minerva glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "Hogwarts doesn't seem to agree."

"Hogwarts is just a pile of barely sentient rocks," Severus spat, but even as the words blasted from his lips, he could still feel the castle in the back of his mind, damaged but standing and calling for the children to return.

"You're tired," Minerva said. "We'll speak again when you've regained your strength." And with that parting shot, she left, leaving her plush Conjured chair behind.

"My strength has nothing to do with it!" Severus shouted after her, but she did not turn around. He considered burning her Conjured chair in retaliation, but settled for poking at with his wand and turning it into a tall-backed green throne that Salazar Slytherin _might_ consider sitting on.

He missed this, the ease of simple magic, the weight of his wand in his hand. As he cast a couple of minor spells on Hutton's flower, one to incinerate and another to vanish the ashes, he felt a sense of purpose fill him. He had unfinished business at Hogwarts, and perhaps he would never be free from the Dark Lord's shadow, or of Potter for that matter. But he also had his wand and his magic, and, for the moment, his freedom.

The afternoon faded into night, and the little candle on the bedside table flickered on with a smoky sigh. He could travel the world if he wished, disappear into the deserts of Muggle America or open a shop in the middle of Diagon Alley. The world was full of possibilities, terrifying and unknown, and within Severus's grasp now.

First, however, he needed to get out of this blasted hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Severus goes back to Spinner's End, and returns Home.
> 
> Expect it in July, though I will try to post it sooner.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus goes back to Spinner's End, then returns home.

There was a soothing familiarity in working during the small hours of the morning, with only the steady beat of his heart measuring the time. Potentiality weighed down the shadows. Tranquility filled his mind and lightened his hand. In the silence of the dungeons, cocooned by ancient stone and deep water, Severus could almost believe he was the last living man on earth.

St Mungo’s did not contain that same ephemeral quality. The glow of yellow street lights seeped in from the windows, cutting the shadows into unfamiliar shapes. The curtains around his bed did not muffle the snores and soft cries of the other patients, nor the squeak and shuffle of the Healer's rubber-soled shoes as she meandered in the dark. Potentiality and tranquility had been usurped by half-remembered nightmares and a throbbing disquiet in the back of his mind, biding its time.

Severus charmed his ruined robes out of the box of possessions tucked underneath his bed. With a flap and a snap, they flew up and draped themselves over his lap. He slipped his hand through the hole torn out of the shoulder, the thick, black fabric stiff with dried blood.

The damage was not as irreparable as Severus had imagined. A bit of Transfiguration, a few twisted and pulled threads, and a blast of cleaning charms should be enough to render his robes wearable once more. As he worked, however, some of the tattered fibers under his wand crumbled to nothing. His spellwork might hold for a day, perhaps two, but the snake's venom clung to the wool threads, slowly eating away at the fibers.

Severus huffed, examining his handiwork in the candlelight. Better these disintegrating rags than staggering home in a hospital gown.

He tossed the robes over to the chair Minerva had left behind, his shoulder stiffening at the last moment. He hissed as a jolt of pain rushed down his arm. The robes fell out of his hand and onto the floor. He clutched at his arm, pulling the useless limb close to his body.

"Mr. Snape, it's four in the morning," the Healer hissed from the opening between the curtains. "And you're not supposed to be doing magic."

He straightened his back, his hand sliding away from his aching shoulder. He made no move to hide the wand. "Am I interrupting your beauty sleep, Miss Fetteridge?"

"For the last time, it's Healer—"

"Since you are here," Severus said with a sniff, "you can inform Healer Smethwyck as soon as he arrives that I will be going home first thing today." Severus charmed the robes back onto the bed, flicking his wand with a steady hand even as his shoulder screamed.

~~~*~~~

"And what gives you the authority to discharge yourself?" Smethwyck said as he stormed to Severus's bedside some hours later, his green Healer robes flapping around his body as he gesticulated.

“You yourself said my wounds have healed,” Severus said as he finished getting dressed. His fingers trembled as they fumbled the buttons into their buttonholes. Charms and spells kept his body upright and his shoulder numb, but they never last long. He patted his pockets in search of his silver cigarette case, forgetting for a moment it was not in his possession. “I shall continue my convalescence in the comfort of my own home.”

“Is that right?” Smethwyck said. “Well then, I hope you have someone at home to scrape you off the ground when you get there, because those charms you cast on yourself are going to give out as soon as you try Apparating or Flooing out of here."

Severus tugged at his collar and his sleeves, slowly blinking as even those casual, inconsequential movements ran spikes of pain up and down his arm. "Any other fine words of advice, Healer?"

"Yes, get back into that bed."

Pain sharpened Severus's sneer. "Thank you, but my own bed is already beckoning. Ah, Miss Fetteridge, thank you." He snatched the small satchel out of the young Healer's hands. The bottles and phials inside clinked together as he tucked the lot into his robes.

"It's Healer Fetteridge," she muttered under her breath, glaring at Severus. "You—" Smethwyck lifted his hand, silencing her.

Severus gave the bed one last cursory glance. "You may keep the chair," he said as he sidestepped the Healers and strode out of the ward.

"We don't want the gaudy thing," Healer Smethwyck shouted after Severus, the words drowned out by stomping of Severus's feet.

On a chair by the stairwell doors was an abandoned copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Severus grabbed the paper and stuffed it into his robes without stopping and strode out of the ward.

The stairwell was empty. As the doors slid shut behind him, Severus collapsed against the railing, his body beginning to tremble. The effort it took to flounce out of the ward was perhaps more than the charms holding him up could support.

Slumped over the rail, he took one shallow breath, and then another. He wiped the fine sheen of sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. What little bile his empty stomach contained gathered at the back of his throat.

He groped for his wand, nearly letting it slip out of his shaking hand. A few whispered spells, and false energy surged once more through his veins, driving back the tremulous fatigue for a while longer. Severus straightened his spine and staggered back from the railing. He took another fortifying breath and squared his shoulders.

Spinner's End was only a turn and a twist away. He had survived death; he could make it that far.

~~~*~~~

Severus Apparated into his home's fenced-in yard and promptly fell face-first onto the hard, rocky ground. He lay there for a time, a blade of scraggly grass in his eye and sharp-edged pebbles digging into his cheek. The stench of Cokeworth filled his nostrils, and a grossly unexpected pang of sentimentality pierced through the exhaustion and pain.

He lurched to his feet with the grace of a battered prizefighter, digging his feet and knees and fingers into the cold dirt. His eyes watered from the brightness of the early morning sun. A bird cawed overhead as he staggered to the kitchen door, his dirt-covered hand fumbling with the handle.

The house reeked of dust, mold, and neglect. His good shoulder scraped against the wall as he dragged himself forward. He hadn't been here in over a year. Two? He could practically hear the mice and the doxies eating away at his books.

He fell into his armchair, sending up a gray cloud of dust into the air. He coughed, then groaned as the coughing jolted his shoulder. His bed beckoned, a familiar respite only a thousand steps away.

Severus settled deeper into the chair cushions, closed his eyes, and waited for his body to prepare for the long trudge upstairs. The house creaked around him, perhaps surprised by his return.

Perhaps he was projecting.

~~~*~~~

The day slipped away on half-formed dreams as he drifted in and out of sleep. The shadows lengthened in the afternoon light and the house grew colder. A distant bell tolled, nudging Severus out of his stupor.

He rolled his neck, crying out as he pulled at his wound. Covering the aching wound with one hand and dropping his head back, he searched blindly for the hospital satchel and the subpar potions inside. He could still taste the bitter, ashy remnants of the last concoction they had forced down his throat—

Severus pulled out the pilfered copy of the _Prophet_. He stared long and hard at the paper, the memory of taking it during his escape not immediately coming to mind.

Potter's face peered out at Severus from the photograph taking up most of the front page, his green eyes muted into somber shades of newspaper ink. The boy lifted his head higher, his nose nearly over the fold, as if to take a better look at the walking ruin his professor had become.

Severus unfolded the paper, scowling as he took a better look at the photograph of Potter, dressed in a dark suit and surrounded by Miss Granger and a boogle of Weasleys. A single white rose was pinned to the boy's lapel. The Lupin funeral, he wondered as he caught sight of Minerva, lingering behind the sea of redheads. Fred Weasley's, the caption underneath the photograph corrected.

Potter's image settled back onto its heels, its face unreadable as it glanced down at the bottom of the page before looking back up at Severus.

There, tucked away between "You-Know-Who's Last Days - page 4-5" and "Hogwarts Repairs Continue", was a tiny dark headline: "Hogwarts Headmaster Exonerated, 'Act of LOVE' - page 2."

Severus threw the paper at the cold fireplace. The sheets of newsprint separated and fluttered onto the floor.

He stared at the mess and waited for his heart to stop racing. He had spent nearly a week in hospital, and not once did Potter show his face. Instead, he had the _gall_ to traipse about and sell Severus's secrets to the _Prophet_ of all places, to expose every shameful piece of Severus’s life to all and sundry. Potter's photograph looked up from where it had landed on the floor. The ink facsimile pleaded, its expression soft and open, for Severus's understanding.

Severus snatched the page off the floor and scanned the damning article, anxiety squeezing his insides. If there was _anything_ about Lily Potter—

> _…Sources say that Snape was working undermine You-Know-Who on the direct orders of the late Albus Dumbledore,_ the article said. _Potter, who, according to his schoolmates, has clashed with his former professor several times, provided the evidence to Ministry officials, vehemently defending Snape, calling him ’the bravest man [Potter] had ever known’._
> 
> _…Snape is currently at St Mungo’s, recovering from injuries sustained during the clash at Hogwarts earlier this week. One source close to the matter confirmed that Potter himself had taken Snape to hospital the morning of You-Know-Who's defeat, and had reportedly visited the professor no less than two times._

Severus turned the page over, slapping it down onto his lap. The Weasleys in the photograph scrambled from underneath his palm, their mouths hanging open with surprise and indignation. Potter stared at him from the gap between Severus’s ring and middle fingers.

“Were you under that infernal Cloak of yours?” His hand slid off Potter’s monochromatic image. “Too much of a coward to show your face?”

The photograph had no answers for him.

A sigh escaped Severus. He crumbled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace, sending the rest of it into the fireplace with a flick of his wand. The _Prophet_ 's habitual lies aside, what did it matter to him if Potter had visited? Only mutual dislike bound them now—

_“You need to live,” Potter whispered against his skin, his racing heartbeat thrumming against Severus’s lips—_

“ _Incendio!_ ” The newsprint burst into white-hot flames, momentarily blinding Severus with its intensity. He swore, blinking away the tears.

As he rubbed the moisture and flash blindness out of his eyes, a letter squeezed through the gap underneath the front door. It floated up into the air, flipped once, twice, and glided back down to the floor.

Severus rose to his feet, one hand on the chair for support and the other on his wand. Another letter slipped inside, its dark parchment sealed shut by a dollop of acid yellow wax, and flopped on top of the first, followed by another and another.

The letters pushed through the cracks, from the sides, from the top. They piled up by the door, wax-sealed beige parchment and machine-pressed bleach white envelopes and a dozen Howlers, smoke seeping out the edges.

He barely managed snapping a shield around the pile when one of the Howlers exploded. "YOU MURDERER!" a voice boomed.

" _Silencio!"_ Severus dropped back into the chair, his own ragged breathing loud in his ears as Howler after Howler silently burst open. The spells around the letters buckled but did not shatter from the pressure of a dozen rage-filled missives. The flooring quaked from the screams until, one by one, the Howlers, spent of the senders' ire, tumbled back onto the pile and crumbled into ashes.

The shield spell fell apart with a pop. Acrid smoke curled up to the ceiling. Bits of parchment smoldered, the blackened ends curling as tiny embers burned the paper away. A wave of his wand gathered the letters and whisked them into the fireplace onto the _Prophet_ 's still-smoking remains. A flick freshened the air, filling the room with the cloying scent of gardenias in full bloom. He stared at the glowing embers as they ate away at ink and wax and paper for much too long before dousing the embers with a muttered " _Aguamenti_ " and dragging himself to bed.

~~~*~~~

In that shabby, old house, it was easy to forget the rest of the world existed. The terraces, left behind and forgotten by the world, their entrances boarded up in grey, sheltered nothing but rats and vandals. No children screamed and tussled in the back streets. No neighbors banged against the walls. The air carried the smell of decay through the streets, from the river to the long-forgotten mill.

Spinner's End was a wasteland of crumbling ruins, a refuge built on atrophy and neglect.

The outside world, however, kept intruding on Severus’s solitude. Owls flew into his kitchen in the morning to drop Howlers onto his breakfast of toast and leftover curry. Letters slipped in from under the door while he scraped together something more effective than the potions those dunderheads at St Mungo's forced upon him. On top of the book he was reading, into the cup of tea in his hand, beside his pillow as he slept, the letters came at all hours of the day. Severus barely spared a glance at the names scrawled on the envelopes before tossing each and every one into the fire.

Not one had been from someone he trusted not to curse him through the post.

Not one had been from—

~~~*~~~

Severus returned from the corner shop Saturday afternoon to find a school owl perched on the back of his armchair, a cream-colored envelope trapped underneath its claws. The tawny owl turned its head, hooted once, and shook out its feathers.

“Am I keeping you?” He dropped his shopping on the couch.

The owl hooted again. It snapped its beak at him as he drew closer.

Severus yanked the letter away from the bird, tearing the parchment on the bird’s claws and knocking the owl off its perch. It squawked, falling backwards before wilding flapping its wings and flying up to the mantle, far from Severus's reach. It glared at Severus and regurgitated a pellet, dropping it out onto his floor.

“Enlightening.” He sat down on the couch, nudging the bag away with this elbow. He sneered at the tawdry Gryffindor lion stamped into the red wax seal, dug his fingernails underneath the seal, and pulled the envelope apart.

The message inside was shorter than he had expected.

> _Severus,_
> 
> _You have not responded to the letter I sent on Thursday_ —

Severus glanced at the ashes in the fireplace. "Hm."

> _—but if you are enduring a deluge of letters as we are here, you may have thrown it out sight unseen._
> 
> _You need to return to Hogwarts as soon as you can. If you don't, I will visit you myself and drag you back, by the ear if need be._
> 
> _The school needs its Headmaster._
> 
> _\- Minerva_

He stared at the note before tossing it onto the armchair. He blindly rummaged through his shopping bag and pulled out a packet of Mayfairs. The owl hooted.

"You don't have to stay," he said. He fiddled with the plastic wrapping. "And I don't have any message for you to take back."

The owl started properly squawking and flapping its wings. Severus threw the blue packet of cigarettes at it. The owl flew out of the way at the last moment. It swooped down towards Severus's head, nearly grazing him with its claws, before flying out the room and to the kitchen.

Severus sank into the cushions, tense irritation giving way to resignation. He let out a long, audible sigh. "Damn it," he said, covering his face with his hand.

~~~*~~~

In the waning sunlight, Hogwarts stood seemingly unchanged. The shadows hid the broken gaps in the masonry. The lights in the windows beckoned to empty grounds. The light, late spring breeze rippled the lake waters and teased the strands of his hair.

Tattered wards, invisible to the eye, swayed through the air. They brushed against Severus as he walked towards the school gates. He curled a finger around a strand, a thousand of years of magic vibrating painfully against his skin before slipping away into the ether.

The gates sprung open at the sight of him. The very ground seemed to hum. "Don't be so eager," he muttered even as a smile began to form on his face, almost against his will. He grazed his fingertips against the metal gate.

The white tomb shone in the growing darkness, the last rays of the sun burnishing the marble gold. Severus drew closer, a shiver running down his spine. In his absence, the tomb had been restored.

The marble was still warm from the sun. Did Potter do this, he wondered as he drew his hand away. Did the chosen one purify what the Dark Lord defiled?

Severus must be exhausted, if his mind could conjure up nothing but trite nonsense.

The hum under his feet grew stronger as he reached the main doors. He could hear the castle sing, its pain and anxiety and joy vibrating through him. He gritted his teeth against the sensation.

“Welcome back, Headmaster,” a broken statue said from where it lay by the door.

Severus pressed his hand against the stone. “Hush,” he said. The hum grew quieter. “Where is everyone?”

“The Great Hall,” the statue said, its voice dropping to a whisper. “Now that you're here, maybe these dolts can get around to fixing me.”

As Severus stole close to the Great Hall, he could hear the clinking of utensils and snippets of subdued voices. Twenty or so people huddled together at the far end of the Gryffindor table, the decimated remains of their meals still in front of them.

Potter sat among them, his face sharp and clean. The warm candlelight softened the hard edges the past year had carved into his face. A corner of his mouth twitched unexpectedly as he listened to his dining companions speak and Severus could feel his heart lurch.

He _knew_ Potter lived. He _saw_ the proof three days before, printed in ink that smeared at the touch. And yet, seeing his face in the newspaper did not fill Severus with the urge to grab Potter, to wrap his arms around him. To proof to himself that yes, Potter was alive and real and—

He slunk back, a shiver running through him, and pressed his fingers against his lips. His heart pounded against his chest, frightened and overwhelmed.

It was relief, Severus told himself as he drank in the sight of him. Relief that Potter's inestimable luck had seen him through even death. Nothing else.

The portraits whispered greetings as Severus passed them. A helmetless suit of armor waved its only arm. Hogwarts hummed in a melancholic minor chord as he strode deeper into the bowels of the castle. The silence of the dungeons enveloped him, but Potter’s face lingered in his thoughts, driving back what tranquility he had hoped to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait.
> 
> Next time: Harry.
> 
> Things have gotten busier at my end, so expect the next chapter in October. Thanks.


	30. Lost in the Shuffle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. I was busy working on something else, and it took a while to return to this.
> 
> This is a longer chapter than usual. It might even be a little confusing. But I'm sure you'll be fine.

Voldemort dropped to the floor without a sound, the last scraps of life in his body burned away by his own Killing Curse. As he fell, a hush fell over the Great Hall. The entire world held its breath. And in that quiet, uncertain pause, Harry felt something wrapped around his heart unclench. The tension between his shoulder blades eased. The weight he had carried for seven years fell away, and for an instant, Harry felt untethered and frighteningly free.

 _Bet Snape’s happy_ , he thought as he lifted his face above the heads of the crowd rushing towards him. He half-expected to see Snape lurking by the doors, his beetle-black eyes glittering with satisfaction.

But Snape was still up in the Headmaster’s office, wasn't he, covered in blood from the neck down, his cigarette case cradled in his long, cold fingers. An icy lump filled Harry's stomach even as Ron and Hermione and dozens of others crashed into him with boisterous joy.

He squirmed under the dozens of hands clapping his back, the arms reaching out to embrace him. He slid out of the growing press of bodies as quickly as he could, his elbows digging into so many sides his Aunt Petunia would have been proud.

"Harry?"

"Harry, mate, what's wrong?"

He ducked under a woman's arm, pushed past a couple snogging, and made a break for it, running out of the Great Hall as if Death Itself was chasing him down.

The cheers died down as they watched Harry rush off. "Where is he going?" someone said in a small voice.

Hermione tugged Ron's sleeve. "Come on," she said before chasing after Harry. Ron blinked, a moment's hesitation, before running after her, followed closely by his siblings, their old classmates, and nearly half of the surviving defenders.

Harry could hear someone shouting after him, the staccato rhythm of dozens of feet pounding against stone, but he could not stop. He jumped over chunks of masonry and raced up the flights of stairs two steps at a time, fear pumping through his veins.

It had been hours since Harry left Snape in the Headmaster's office. The icy lump lodged itself in his throat. He should have told someone Snape was there. His legs burned as he forced himself forward. He should have—

The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office leaned against the wall by the entrance, distinctively out of kilter. It rolled his head away from the wall and gave Harry a crossed, bleary look before glancing past Harry's shoulder. "I'm not letting all you lot in," it rumbled.

"Is he—" Harry gasped out, his own legs threatening to buckle underneath him.Is he still up there? Is he still alive?

The gargoyle raised a clawed, broken hand. "Go," it said. Harry didn't need any more persuading. He disappeared up the spiral staircase as Hermione, Ron, and the rest of his pursuers staggered into the corridor.

Professor McGonagall strode through the panting, fatigued crowd, her back straight and her breath steady despite the race up several flights of stairs. The winded witches and wizards, all students of hers at one point or another, stared up at her in frightened awe. "Stay here and catch your breath," she said, the worried pursing of her lips belying the glint in her eye. "I'll see what's wrong." She barely glanced at the gargoyle before climbing up the spiral staircase after Harry.

Ron clutched at his side, half-dizzy, before lurching past the gargoyle after McGonagall. Hermione swayed a bit before joining him up the staircase, followed closely behind by Neville, Ginny, and what sounded like a herd of huffing, heavy-footed Erumpents.

The staircase stayed stationary under their feet as they scaled yet one more flight. Ron all but crawled the entire way, his legs deaden and his hands searching for purchase in the stone walls. He stepped onto the topmost step with a groan, Hermione two steps behind, when the stairs fell away from under their feet.

Hermione cried out and grabbed Ron's arm as her feet slipped out from underneath her, nearly pulling them both down the newly-transformed slide. Behind them, shouts and groans echoed up as others slid back down to the corridor, crashing into the gargoyle and barreling into the crowd below.

Ron swayed and dug his fingers into the gaps between the stones to steady them. "Come on, Hermione," he said through gritted teeth, "you're heavy."

"Oi!" She got a foot on the topmost step and smacked him in the arm before grabbing hold of the wall as well.

Professor McGonagall stood at the open office door, her body tightly wound. Dumbledore's old trinkets sparkled sunlight into her eyes. The office smelled faintly of metal, and in the center of the room sat Severus Snape, covered in blood from the chin down.

Harry was on his knees in front of Severus. His hands pressed down on Snape's shoulder one second and touched the man's ashen face the next. "Please," he hissed at the man, his jaw barely moving. His hands left grimy, rust-colored smudges on Severus's skin. "You promised."

Several questions raced through Minerva's mind. Most started with "why" and "how". She took a step forward, raised her wand, and pointed it at Severus's closed eyes. "What happened to him?"

Harry looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide. "Nagini—the snake—" He pressed down harder on Severus's shoulder, his words rushing out. "She bit him, and we tried healing him, but—he's still—"

Minerva was already in motion. She flicked a spell at the fireplace, stoking the dying embers into a modest fire. "We have to get him to St. Mungo's." She grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the ornate pot on the mantelshelf. "Help him to his feet."

Harry stayed at his Potion Master's feet. "But St. Mungo's isn't safe. Madam Pomfrey can--"

"Do you want him to live or not?" Her voice echoed off the high ceiling. Wild strands of dark hair framed the exasperation on her face. She flung the handful of powder into the fire and stepped through the green flames. "St. Mungo's!"

Harry stared at the flames before jerking into motion. He slipped his arms under Snape's back and legs, hauling the professor's dead weight out of the chair.

Snape weighed much less than he should, Harry thought as he cradled the professor against his chest. He felt Snape's ribs through the man's thick robes, his shallow breaths on Harry's sweaty neck. Snape's head slumped against Harry's shoulder, intimate in a way the man never was, least of all with Harry. Warm blood seeped into his clothes, chilling Harry even as his cheeks started to burn.

He spotted his best friends loitering by the office door. "Ron, the powder," Harry said, wobbling towards the fire.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione stepped in front of Harry, blocking his way. She hooked Snape's arms around Harry's neck. "We'll be right behind you."

Harry took a breath before nodding once, a grim smile on his face. "I know."

Ron nodded back and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire. Harry tightened his grip on the professor and stepped into the flames. "St. Mungo's," he shouted over the roar in his ears. They disappeared in a flash of emerald green.

~~~*~~~

Even in the secluded hallways of the dungeons, the prolonged battle had left its mark. Scraps of parchment and broken chairs with smashed legs lounged in the corners. Scorch marks blackened the walls near the Slytherin common room. The castle's hum fell silent as Severus unlocked his old office door and let himself inside.

He had stripped the old office room bare long ago. The dust-coated bottles and the shelves that held them, the wide, scarred desk, the books, the hoarded ingredients, he had cleaned up and secreted it all away the summer before. Only a few uneven spots of color on the floor marked where the desk once stood, the soot-blackened gaps in the walls where a decade’s worth of cauldron fires burned.

Dried herbs no longer hung over the door to his private chambers, but with a touch. the door still appeared. With a word, it swung open. Candles flickered alight as he stepped inside.

Here, at least, nothing had changed. Unread books and journals still sat in untended stacks by the sofa, waiting for Severus to finally find the time to read them. Ungraded, year-old essays rested unfurled on his table, the ink pot beside them long dried out. Dust filled in the gaps in the bookshelves and obscured the framed photograph on the mantelpiece. A house-elf in a singed Hogwarts tea-towel squatted in front of the fireplace, jabbing the burning logs with a poker. Severus cleared his throat. "Tsukky."

Tsukky bounced to her feet and gave Severus a jerky bob. "Welcome back, Headmaster Snape, sir," she said, her tennis-ball-sized eyes suspiciously bright and red-rimmed. The poker in her hand banged against the sofa and scratched a line in his threadbare rug as she tucked it behind her back. "We are glad you have come back, sir."

Severus placed both hands on the back of the sofa. Now that he was no longer in motion, he could feel his strength flagging. He leaned against it, digging his fingers into the upholstery. "Thank you, Tsukky." There were faint brown flecks along the hem of her tea-towel. "You fought in the battle as well, I take it?"

Tsukky sniffed, her eyes growing brighter. "Of course, Headmaster sir," she said, her chin jutting out. "Hogwarts is our home. We—" She sniffed again, louder this time, her eyes blinking suspiciously fast.

Severus found a paper napkin in his pocket and handed it to her. "Thank you, Headmaster sir," she said, the tears seeping out from the corners of her eyes. She pushed the napkin up her nose and wiped away the snot.

Severus looked away. "When was the last time you rested, Tsukky?" he said.

That stopped the elf mid-sniffle. "Rested, sir? There's no time for Tsukky to rest." She let out a horrified sob. "Nonny and Heeva and Dobby, they rest. There's too much to do to rest!"

Severus sucked in a breath. "So is this how you wish to serve Hogwarts?" he said icily. "Traipsing about in a tattered, stained tea-towel and sobbing at the drop of a wand?"

She wailed, "No, Headmaster sir! But there's less of us now! And there's so much work to do!"

"Tsukky, listen to me very carefully." Her large eyes widened as Severus circled around the sofa to loom over her. She sniffed back another sob. "You and all the other elves will take time tonight to rest. To rest!" he repeated as Tsukky opened her mouth to protest. "You will remember what pride you have for this school and present yourself accordingly when I visit the kitchens at ten a.m. tomorrow." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Unless you wish to exchange those rags for clothing?"

"No, Headmaster sir!" She pulled her ears down, cowering away from him. "Please don't! You wouldn't!"

"Then be sure to be in a clean towel tomorrow morning," Severus said. "Now go."

"Yes, Headmaster sir," she said, head bowed, before sniffling once more and disappearing with a tiny pop.

Severus let out a long sigh and sank into the sofa cushions. The back of his eyes itched; the fire heated his face. He rubbed the smoke out his eyes with the back of his hand.

A tray laden with tea, roast beef, thick pea soup, a mountain of vegetables, and Yorkshire puddings larger than his fist appeared on the seat beside him. The scents of soft bread and rich gravy made Severus's mouth water shamelessly, even as his empty stomach twisted itself into distressed knots. Days of hospital gunk, half-hearted cooking, and soggy takeaway had overtaxed his appetite in ways the time confined in bed had not.

He served himself some tea and picked at his dinner until his stomach settled and the familiar Hogwarts fare coaxed his hunger back.

~~~*~~~

Harry stomped his feet from the door to the visitor chairs to the window and back to the door, his attention on the curtained-off bed some distance away. The Healers had pulled Snape out of his arms nearly ten minutes ago. Harry's face still burned with embarrassment when he remembered the way he carried Snape into the ward, like a groom carrying his bride. He had blathered nonsense to the Healer who pushed him away from Snape's bedside. Harry's fingers felt ice-cold against his burning cheeks.

Ron and Hermione slumped against each other as they dozed on the hard visitor chairs. Every couple of minutes, Hermione's head jerked up from its perch on Ron's shoulder. She would struggle to blink away the sleep in her eyes, only to fall back to sleep, the pull too strong. Ron snored on, unbothered as Hermione continued to use him as her pillow.

Harry could hear his own body scream for a bit of rest. His friends wouldn't mind if he lay down on top of them both and slept. But then a flutter of the curtains or a harshly-whispered word would catch Harry's attention and he would start pacing again.

Professor McGonagall stood by the door, her eyes following Harry as he finished lap after lap. She took hold of Harry's sleeve as he shuffled past her for the umpteenth time. "You're giving me a headache."

"Sorry," he said. He leaned against the wall by the window and rubbed at the dirt and blood encrusted into his skin.

The curtain around Snape's bed twitched. Harry jumped to attention.

"Potter--"

"Professor McGonagall," one of the Healers, a young woman with dark hair and hard eyes, slipped out from behind the curtain. Flecks of blood decorated the front of her lime green uniform. Harry craned his neck to catch some glimpse of Snape, but the curtain snapped back into place, keeping the man out of sight.

"Healer Fetteridge," McGonagall said, taking a step forward. She clasped her hands together. "How is he?"

"He'll live," Fetteridge said with a scowl. She cleaned away the blood with a flick of her wand. "There was a tooth fragment embedded in the wound, not so small that it's undetectable, but too small for amateurs to notice." She glanced at Harry from the corner of her eye. "If it wasn't for all the Blood-Replenishing Potion in him, he would've most certainly bled to death."

"Can I see him?" Harry said, taking a step towards the Healer.

Fetteridge stared at Harry, the expression on her face turning even cooler, before rolling her eyes and turning her back to him. "We will be keeping him on sleeping potions for the next twenty-four hours to allow his body to recover," she said to Professor McGonagall. "But Healer Smethwyck believes he will make a full recovery." She scowled. "Unfortunately."

"Fetteridge," McGonagall said, her voice pitched low in warning.

"Sorry, Professor," the healer said, the scowl still on her face.

A silvery streak of light zipped through the air. It stopped between the two women. "Minerva," Professor Flitwick's voice began, the sound reed-thin and growing thinner with each word.

Harry sneaked closer to Snape’s bed and slipped through a gap between the curtains. An older Healer stood by Snape's bed, his back to Harry. His wand traced glowing green lines over the gauze wrapped around Snape's neck and shoulder.

Snape slept, undisturbed by the Healer’s ministrations. His sallow skin looked ghost-white against the pale sheets. They had pulled his hair up and away from his face, the blood-stiffened strands left pointing in jagged directions. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath. Harry drew closer, his hand itching to touch.

"You shouldn't be here," Healer Smethwyck said, not looking up from his wandwork. "Where's Healer Fetteridge?"

Harry jerked his hand away. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I wanted to see if he was all right."

Smethwyck huffed. "And now that you have, you can go." He lifted away his wand. The pale green lines dissolved into the gauze, leaving no trace. "He's not in any state right now to see you mooning over him."

"Mooning?" Harry's face and neck grew hotter. "I'm not mooning over him."

Smethwyck gave Harry a long look. He flicked his wand in the air, Summoning a hospital gown and making short work of clothing the unconscious professor. "Why don't you go home and take a bath?" he said. "He'll still be here when you get back."

"Potter, where are you?" McGonagall asked from the other side of the curtain.

"Do you promise?" Harry said, his voice low.

"This is a hospital, Mr Potter," Smethwyck said as he stared straight into Harry's eyes. "Until he's healed, he's as safe as houses."

The curtain rings clanged against each other as Professor McGonagall pulled the curtains out of the way. Behind her, Fetteridge was glaring daggers at Harry. Ron and Hermione hovered behind the two women, sleepily trying to get a glimpse. "Healer Smethwyck, apologies. Mr Potter, I'm returning to the castle. Are you staying here?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"No," Smethwyck said. "Look at him. He's filthy and can barely stand on his feet, he's so exhausted."

Harry bristled. "I'm standing right now."

"The patient needs rest," Smethwyck pushed on. "And no one can rest while Harry Potter is here, hanging around."

"I don't have time to argue," McGonagall said. "Healer Smethwyck, I'll return when I can. Potter, I expect you back at the castle soon." She gave Harry's shoulder a light pat. "Weasley? Granger?"

"We'll wait for Harry," Ron said. Hermione nodded her head. McGonagall patted their shoulders as well before walking quickly out of the ward.

Fetteridge frowned at Harry. She crossed her arms.

Something about her expression rankled Harry. "Severus Snape is a good man," he said, staring the woman down.

"A good man wouldn't have killed Albus Dumbledore," she replied.

"Fetteridge," Smethwyck said. “You have been warned before.”

Fetteridge threw her hands in the air. “Does that even matter anymore?" she said. "If Harry Potter is here," she pointed a sharp finger at Harry, "and Severus Snape's there, then that means You-Know-Who is gone!”

Smethwyck corralled Fetteridge away from the bed. “Gone or not," he hissed, one hand on her elbow, "you're a Healer. You cannot let your personal feelings stop you from doing your job.” The curtains cut them from view.

Ron and Hermione moved to stand on either side of Harry. The Healers did a good job of cleaning away all the blood. Snape's hand was so clean and white, Harry was wary of touching it.

Hermione nudged Harry with her shoulder. “I think that bath idea's a good one,” she said.

“And I think we should go before my mum sends us a Howler,” Ron said. He gave a weak shudder.

"I want to take him back to the castle with us," Harry said.

That brought his friends short. "I don't think that's a good idea," Ron said. "Even if you're suddenly all 'Snape's good' doesn't mean everyone's going to agree with you."

Harry frowned. "You're right." Ron and Hermione hadn't see Snape's memories. Only Harry knew not just what Snape had done, but why. So it fell to him to convince the world Severus Snape was the best and the bravest of them all.

He had just accomplished one impossible feat. What's another?

"It's probably safer for him here," Hermione said. "We're the only ones who know he's here."

"Well," Ron said. "Us and the Healers. And McGonagall. Hardly anyone at all."

He clenched his fists. The thought of leaving Snape alone and vulnerable bothered him more than he could say. He needed-- "Kreacher."

The old house-elf appeared behind Harry with a heavy pop. Kreacher's rags were grimier and more blood-splattered than usual. The metal skewer in his hand was just as dirty. "Kreacher is here, Master," he said.

"I need you to watch over Professor Snape for me," Harry said, lowering himself on one knee to look at the elf in the eye. "Make sure no one does anything to him while I'm gone and tell me when he wakes up."

"Kreacher will watch over the Headmaster, yes," Kreacher said. He wiped the skewer on his rags and tucked the thin rod under his equally thin arm.

"I don't think he's the Headmaster anymore, Kreacher," Hermione said.

The house-elf narrowed his eyes. "Master's friend thinks she knows everything, but knows nothing. Is that all, Master?"

"Yeah, that's all, Kreacher, thanks."

Kreacher shot Hermione another dark look before disappearing from sight.

"Guess he still doesn't like you," Ron said.

~~~*~~~

A pouch filled with dried elderflower petals and willow bark bobbed about in the bathwater, giving the water a faintly medicinal smell. It wasn't a true potion, but as Severus plucked the pouch out of the water and squeezed the last drops out of it, he could feel some of the healing properties dribble through his fingers.

Severus scoffed at his own ridiculous thoughts and tossed the pouch into the bathroom sink. This bath was the closest thing he had come to brewing in what felt like ages, and it's a oversized cup of herbal tea.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub and trailed his fingers through the hot water. The water at Spinner's End never felt this inviting, never this perfectly clean and soothing. He worked on the buttons on his sleeve, wearily nudging each one out of their buttonholes.

A knock on his door startled him. He froze, his fingers tangled in the buttonholes, and held his breath. No one should know he was here.

Perhaps, if he pretended to be asleep—

Several more knocks. "Severus Snape, I can see the light shining from underneath the door."

Ah, Minerva. The perfect way to end a day.

Severus let out a hard sigh and got back on his feet. He redid the buttons on his sleeve and shuffled to the door.

Minerva frowned at him as he opened it. A bit of tartan covered her neck, a lonely spot of color against her black mourning robes. "What are you doing, hiding down here?" she said. She craned her head to look past him into the rooms. "You haven't been down here all year."

Severus moved to block her view. "How did you know I was here?"

"The portraits wouldn't stop whispering about it," Minerva said. "At the rate gossip travels here, the whole castle should find out by tomorrow morning."

"Or earlier." He opened the door wide enough to let her pass through. "Since you're here, we can discuss a few things." He turned to find the dinner tray gone and a full tea service with chocolate digestives and its own spindly table placed between his sofa and the fire. "I said, rest!" he said, raising his head to the ceiling. Stubborn, imbecilic elves.

"Well, I was hoping to just talk," Minerva said. "And to see that you're feeling better, of course."

"Of course." He stood by the door, silently praying she would take the hint and not sit down. "I am still planning to step down as Headmaster."

"And I still think that would be a terrible decision." Minerva sat down on his sofa and began pouring out two cups of tea. Severus tried not to think of the lovely, steaming hot, faintly medicinal bath still waiting for him. Minerva placed a biscuit on top of a filled cup and set it close to Severus. "Stop rolling your eyes and sit down."

He crossed his arms, making no move to join her. "I'm still quite full from dinner," he said.

"Suit yourself." She helped herself to a biscuit.

"Whether you think it's a terrible decision or not," he said, "I plan to start the process of stepping down tomorrow morning. I'm certain that you'll be instated as the new Headmistress before the next school year begins, as is your due."

"What makes you believe that I'd want to be Headmistress? The school still has a perfectly capable Headmaster." She took a sip of her tea. "In spite of, well, everything, you did keep the school from falling completely apart this past year." She looked up. "Imagine what you can do now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone."

"I have," Severus said. "And those fantasies never included staying here."

~~~*~~~

Harry didn't remember much of the way up to Gryffindor Tower. He hadn't even realized that they were even walking in that direction until they stood, arm in arm, in front of the painting of the Fat Lady.

"Harry Potter!" the Fat Lady cried out, throwing her arms out wide. "Good job, my darling boy! We are so very proud of you!"

"Thank you," Harry said. Dumbledore's portrait had said very much the same thing when they sneaked back up to the Headmaster's office for Snape's memories. The gargoyle barely glanced at them when they walked past it.

"We, uh, we don't know the password," Hermione said.

The Fat Lady shook her head. "Oh dear, that is a real shame," she said. "All three of you look so tired out, you must be desperate to crawl right into bed. But I can't let you in unless you say the password, resist."

"Resist?" Ron echoed.

The Fat Lady winked at them and swung open to reveal the entrance to the common room. They hurried inside before the painting changed her mind.

Inside, the rich red and gold decorations welcomed them from their long journey away, but there was an indiscernible sense of neglect in the air. There were no scraps of parchments and forgotten quills littering the tables. No ash lingered in the fireplace. The silence struck Harry as they climbed up to the boys' dormitories.

Their room still had five beds, as if the school had expected all the Seventh Year boys to return. Harry tapped his knuckles against one of the posts of his bed. "Is it silly," he said, "to get a bit teary-eyed over a bed?"

Ron threw himself into his, bouncing once before settling. "You're probably tired, mate."

He probably was. He showered the last several months' worth of dirt and weariness, too worried that he would fall asleep if he had taken a bath instead. He scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again, washing himself until the water circling the drain ran clear, and then stood under the hot downpour just because he could. He had forgotten how good a hot shower felt.

When he finally emerged from the shower, pink and wrinkly-fingered, he found his moleskin pouch resting on top of a clean set of pyjamas, the filthy clothing he had changed out of nowhere in sight. He touched the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the pyjama top, feeling that same odd rush of emotion he had felt at the sight of his bed, a feeling of homecoming entangled with nostalgia.

He dressed quickly and crawled into his old four-post bed. Ron's snores and Hermione's soft breathing from the next bed over soon lulled Harry to sleep, only for something to shake him awake.

"Wha?" he sat up, disoriented and fumbling for his glasses and his repaired wand. Night had fallen while he had slept. Ron's bed was empty; Neville was in his, curled up in a ball under his duvet and mumbling in his sleep.

Kreacher stood on the bed between Harry's feet. His giant eyes reflected the faint moonlight. "Master," he croaked quietly, "the Headmaster. He's awake."

Harry's heart started racing. "Can you take me to him?" he said without thinking.

Kreacher nodded his head and wrapped his bony hand around Harry's wrist. Harry sucked in a breath as Kreacher Apparated them out of Hogwarts without another word and exhaled as he landed hard on St. Mungo's cold linoleum floor.

The curtains around Snape's bed were parted open. Two people in Auror robes stood around the bed while several other people conversed nearby.

Professor McGonagall drank from a paper cup near the window, her eyes on the bed. She tilted her head slightly towards Healer Smethwyck and Kingsley Shacklebolt, whose bald head shone under the lit crystal bubbles above their heads. "The dampening effect on his healing should be negligble," he said, his low voice a rumble above the clanging of heavy iron chains.

Harry slowly picked himself off from the floor. One of the Aurors flanking Shacklebolt spotted him. Harry's guts twisted; he knew that man.

"Harry Potter," Alphege Hutton said, surprise drawing his lips back in an awkward smile that pulled at the jagged scar on his face. "How did you get in here?"

The adults all turned to look at him. Harry held his head up high even as embarrassment rushed blood to his cheeks. No one looked impressive while barefooted and in schoolboy pyjamas, and Merlin only knew what shape his hair had dried into while he had slept. "What are you doing to Snape?"

Professor McGonagall stepped forward. "We are taking precautions." She nodded at Kingsley before striding towards Harry.

"Precautions against what?" Harry's voice bounced off the walls. "An unconscious man?"

McGonagall herded Harry to the other side of the room. She stared down at him from over the rim of her glasses. "I know you believe that he's good," she said quietly as Kingsley moved to stand just behind her shoulder. "But Severus Snape is still a dangerous man."

"Maybe he is," Harry hissed, "but he doesn't deserve to be in chains."

"Harry," Kingsley said, "Severus Snape is a Death Eater and a murderer. You yourself witnessed what Snape had done. You know where his true allegiances lie."

"Yes, with Dumbledore!" His eyes darted between McGonagall and Shacklebolt, searching for a sign that they were truly listening to him. "He was Dumbledore's man through and through." McGonagall opened her mouth. "Yes, even then," he added before she could speak. "He's always been Dumbledore's man, and it was because of him that I was able to defeat Vold--You-Know-Who in the end."

"Harry, even if what you say is true--"

"Professor," Harry interjected, "these past seven years, how did I feel about Snape?"

Minerva glanced back at Kingsley, who shrugged. "You hated him," she said.

"I hated him," Harry said with a hard nod. "I was always suspicious of him. So were you, and Kingsley, and the whole Order. But that was the point! We weren't supposed to trust him because Dumbledore wanted it that way. He needed Snape to keep spying on Voldem-on him, and if that meant--" Harry's words caught in the back of his throat. "Dumbledore ordered him to do it," he pushed on, his voice dropping, "so that he could stay on Voldemort's good side."

At the sound of You-Know-Who's name, Minerva pushed Harry away from the door and behind her. She and Kingsley both tensed and drew their wands.

They waited, breaths stilled and wands aimed at the ward's sole door. The Aurors by the bed straightened, aware but unsure as to what was happening.

After a long moment, Kingsley let out a long breath and relaxed his stance. "You should know better than to say that name," he said.

"He's gone," Harry said, his own heart beating fast. "And the only reason he's really gone is because Snape helped me."

McGonagall kept her wand at the ready.

"Professor, you trusted me last night when I sneaked back into the castle because I told you I was doing what Dumbledore asked me to do," Harry said, unable to see his Head of House's face. "Please trust me about Snape now."

"Others will need proof," she said, not looking back at him.

"I have that." Harry squared his shoulders. "If I have to convince the entire world, I will."

~~~*~~~

Minerva set her cup down. "Fantasies," she repeated softly. "Is that how you would describe your plans for the future?"

Severus's spine stiffened. "That is the word I have chosen for them, yes."

"Then, perhaps, it's time not to think of them as fantasies, but as something that can be reality." She brushed the crumbs off her hands. "And that includes continuing on as Headmaster."

Severus's lips curled, a sour feeling bubbling inside him. "I'm starting believe that you do not want the job for yourself."

"To be honest," Minerva said, "I don't."

"Lazy Gryffindor."

"But this is not about what I want," she said, ignoring his jibe. "This is about what is best for the school, and you as Headmaster is just that."

"I hardly think a war criminal is what's best for Hogwarts," Severus said.

"But you are not a war criminal," she said. "You are a hero. You're the bravest man Harry Potter had ever known and an exemplar of the best of Slytherin House."

"Are you quoting directly from the upcoming press release?"

She scowled. "Albus entrusted the school to you."

"To keep Hogwarts safe during the war, and—"

"And now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone," Minerva interrupted, rising to her feet, "you believe that you've done your duty? Did you not see the damage the school has sustained? Do you not feel the tears in the wards? We have worked for days on repairs, but nothing stays mended. We build a wall back up, the next morning, it collapses back to rumble. What wards we try to recast fall apart if you so much as look at them the wrong way."

"Are you implying that it my duty to repair the school as well?" Severus said. "To mend the centuries'-old wards on my own? I'm a potioneer, not a bricklayer."

"I am saying," Minerva said, "that the fight might be over, but there's still work to be done. And the work would go a lot faster if the Head of the bloody school was here to lend a hand." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you not care about the state you will leave the school if you walk away now? Hogwarts is your home—"

"When," he said, a heat rising up his neck as he spoke, "has Hogwarts ever been my home?" Bile coated his tongue. "A prison, a refuge, a place I needed to protect? Certainly, but a home?"

"Severus—"

"Have you even considered that perhaps I'm tired?" Severus's voice grew louder. "That I want a life without all of this hanging above my head? I nearly died. And now, now that I can maybe think of a life outside this place, you demand that I stay?"

"I am not demanding that you stay—"

"Do you prefer the word 'guilting' instead?"

"That is hardly a word."

"But you don't deny that is what you're trying to do."

"Believe it or not—"

"I don't."

"—I want what's best for you, Severus," she said. "Tucking yourself away in that hovel of yours, hiding from the Wizarding World, it's not good for you. Whatever you might think, Hogwarts is your home—do not argue with me about this," she raised her hand, "and you cannot deny that it wants you here."

It chafed him to admit she was right. It didn't stop him from saying, "I hardly think the Wizarding World would let their precious children come to Hogwarts when they learn I am still in charge."

"They did this past year," Minerva said. "And it shouldn't be hard to convince the rest." There was a glint in the old cat's eye. "Once they find out Harry will be returning as well--"

That brought Severus short. "Potter's returning?"

"He wishes to take his N.E.W.T.s," Minerva said.

"Potter wishes to take his N.E.W.T.s," Severus parroted. "Granger, I can understand wanting to return," the perfectionistic little swot, "but Potter's no academic."

Minerva shrugged and helped herself to another biscuit. "He said it's important for his future."

"His future." Severus scoffed. "All the boy has to do is bat his eyes and Kingsley would give him that Auror post he's dreamed of without question." It should be easier than talking his way into winning Severus's freedom, surely.

"You're full of interesting word choices tonight, Severus."

"What is the real reason he's returning?" Severus demanded. Potter had never struck him as someone too cowardly to stand on his own feet. He was too stubborn, too wilful to let such measly things like qualifications and protocol stand in the way of what he wanted. He was an adult. He should be riding the public's wave of adulation and sheer gratitude to whatever cushy job he'd be grievously unfit to perform. It made no sense to Severus for Potter to take that step back into school life.

"Perhaps that's something you should ask him yourself," Minerva said.

~~~*~~~

The pin of the rose boutonnière kept pricking Harry through the thin suit. The borrowed dress shoes pinching his toes squeaked against the linoleum floor. He swore silently and took slower, more deliberate steps. He should have taken the time to change out of his funeral clothes, traded the oxfords for his trainers. The Invisibility Cloak didn't muffle sounds, after all.

It was long past nine when he sneaked into the hospital. The ward was all but deserted. A candle burned low on a table set up by the door. Muggle playing cards lay face-down, abandoned mid-game. A red cloak was draped over the back of one of the two chairs. Harry pulled his Cloak tighter around himself and tiptoed in.

A draft disturbed the curtains around Snape's bed. A faint _Lumos_ winked to life on the other side of the curtains, throwing shadows against the thin fabric.

Harry rushed forward on his toes, his wand in his hand before he thought to draw it. Through the gaps, he could make out the dark red Auror robes of a large man standing by Snape's bed.

The Auror held his wand high, keeping the magical light on Snape. He moved with deliberate, measured steps. "Severus," he whispered. The fingers of his free hand grazed a line up Snape's chest. "Are you awake?" Harry slipped his hands through the gap in the curtains and drew them apart.

Auror Hutton leaned over the bed, his wand held in a loose grip above the sleeping professor's head. "Still knocked out by the Dreamless Sleep?" The iron chains around Snape's wrists were black against the pale sheets. "Would a kiss wake you up?" the Auror said, his face creeping closer to Snape's. Their noses brushed.

Something in Harry snapped apart, jagged with fury. It bubbled hot against his heart and filled the back of his throat. He cast a hex at the Auror without thinking.

The larger man stumbled away from the bed, his wand falling out of his hand and clattering on the floor. The _Lumos_ died out.

Hutton groaned and clutched his shoulder, where Harry's Stinging Jinx had struck him. Harry held his breath as the Invisibility Cloak slipped off his shoulders and fell to the floor. He kept his wand pointed at Hutton, something akin to panic shaking its way through his limbs. "Stay away from him," he said quietly.

"Harry Potter?" Hutton said, squinting at Harry. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I can say the same to you."

Hutton searched for his wand in the feeble candlelight. "I'm doing my job protecting the professor," he said.

"Don't think harassing him in his sleep counts as protecting," Harry said.

Hutton snatched his wand off the floor. The _Lumos_ flickered back on, dimmer than before. He stared long and hard at Harry's face. A smirk formed on the man's lips. Harry tried not squirm. "Never thought Harry Potter of all people would be the type," he said.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. A shiver of pure mortification ran down his spine. "What are you talking about?" he said, his tone even.

"Sneaking around in the dead of night to attack an injured man?" Hutton shook his head. "Not something I thought a 'hero' would do."

"I could say the same to you, Auror."

"Everything all right here, Hutton?" a woman said. She stood just to the right of Harry, her too-long arms and too-long face reminding Harry of a mantis. She kept her wand aimed at Harry's hand.

"Just someone wishing to pay a visit to the professor, Moss," Hutton said.

"Visiting hours ended ages ago," Moss said.

"What's visiting hours to Harry Potter?" Hutton said in a Snape-like drawl. "Perhaps you should come back in the morning, when it's more appropriate." His gaze raked up and down Harry's body. "And not dressed like you're on your way to a funeral."

"You don't know the first thing about being appropriate," Harry said. "Always trying to kiss Snape when he clearly doesn't want you to."

A thunderous look formed on Hutton's face. His face burned a dark, bruised color in the dim light. "That's none of your business, kid."

"Wait, kiss?" Moss said. "Hutton, did you send me off for coffee so that you could kiss the greasy git?"

"He's not a git," Hutton hissed back. "You Gryffindors always think the same."

"I was a Ravenclaw, you arse!"

Harry grabbed his Cloak off the floor before either Auror could step on it, or worse, tried to touch it. "Do you mind if I had to time alone with the professor?"

"Yes," Hutton said.

"No, of course not," Moss said, giving Hutton a sharp look before focusing her attention on Harry. "But only for a minute. You're not supposed to be here this late."

"All the more reason to send him home," Hutton said but he shuffled around Harry. He dropped himself into one of the chairs by the table and gave Harry a dirty look.

Harry moved to close the curtains. "Leave them open," Hutton barked. Harry glowered back at him and yanked them closed.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Moss hissed at Hutton, her voice perfectly audible from the other side of the curtain.

The little candle by Snape's bedside lit itself with a tiny spark. The light gave Snape's pallid skin a soft, warm glow. Sleep hadn't lightened the deep, dark circles under the man's eyes. It hadn't filled the hollowed-out cheeks, but it had smoothed the lines that wrinkled Snape's brow and gathered in the corners of his eyes. Harry sucked in a breath and drew closer. Snape barely stirred.

"Just because he's Harry Potter, doesn't mean he should be alone with him," Hutton grumbled, almost too low to be heard.

Harry slipped his fingers under the iron shackle around Snape's wrist. He curled them loosely around Snape's hand. It felt warmer than Harry had expected, the skin calloused and dry. He rubbed his thumb across Snape's knuckles, mesmerized as the loose skin folded and smoothed out.

"Weren't you the one praising him yesterday?" Moss said, her voice trailing away. "For saving him?"

Snape would absolutely hate having Harry's hand in his. "If you wake up and tell me to bugger off, I will," he whispered. Snape did not respond.

Hutton grunted but said nothing.

Harry brushed a stray lock of hair away from Snape's nose. He smoothed the hair away from the man's brow. Sleep had given Snape's lips a soft, pinkish color. A wild, insane urge rose up inside Harry, which he hastily squashed down. Shame burned through him as he took a step back.

He was no better than Hutton, trying to steal kisses from a sleeping man.

"I forgot to ask if you liked milk and sugar in your coffee," Moss said, cutting through Harry's thoughts.

Harry struggled with the rose pinned to his lapel, biting back a yelp as the damn pin poked him again. He jerked the pin out, almost dropping the boutonnière onto the floor.

He rubbed the soft petals between his finger and thumb. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier when you were awake," he said softly. He tucked the boutonnière in Snape's hand, curling the man's long fingers over the flower.

He fastened the long pin back into his lapel, taking care not to poke himself again. "I'll bring proper flowers when I visit tomorrow," he said.

Hutton stood on the other side of the curtains, looming over Harry when he pulled them back. "Visiting time is over."

Harry glared back. "I heard." He looked back at Snape one last time before pushing past the Auror.

Moss gave Harry a limp wave when he walked past her.

"He's an interesting kid, isn't he?" she said as the door to the ward shut behind him. She spotted Hutton's scowl. "Aww, you upset that Snape asks about Harry Potter more than he asks about you?" Her smile widened, flashing sharp teeth. "Or that he caught you kissing the poor professor."

Hutton glowered at Moss. "Mind your own damn business," he said as he checked Snape's chains, deliberately running his hands over Snape's arms as he inspected each loop.

His jaw clenched when he found the rose Potter had put in Snape's hand. He grabbed it with both hands, nearly ripping the boutonnière in two like a Christmas cracker.

He crammed the boutonnière into his pocket instead, crushing the delicate white rose petals. Severus deserved proper flowers, not some funereal rubbish.

~~~*~~~

The bath had not been as relaxing as Severus had hoped. The warmth sank into his body and melted away the mild aches, but it could not soften his tense muscles or silence the unease in his heart.

To his utter annoyance, the bedroom didn't reek of dust and disuse. Surfaces had been polished clean. A beeswax candle by his bed shone light on the swept corners. The smooth linens all but billowed fresh, clean breezes into the room. A pressed nightshirt sat folded at the foot of the bed, waiting for his approval.

"What is the point," he groused as he dried himself, "of being Headmaster if even the damn house-elves don't obey me?" He shook out the unfamiliar nightshirt and stared at the high collar kept closed by a tight line of pearl-like buttons.

He slipped it on, irritated by how silken the fabric felt against his skin. He tugged at the collar and smoothed it against his neck, ignoring the bumps and ridges underneath.

He crawled into the sheets, irked by how soft and warm and offensively _comfortable_ the bed was. The mattress remembered the curve of his spine. The pillow cooled his cheek. He lay on his back and waited for sleep to overtake him or for the candle to burn itself out.

In the silence, he could almost feel the hum of the castle ebb and flow in time with his breathing. His right hand rubbed at his left forearm, kneading and scratching at a mark that was no longer there. Restlessness gnawed at him, his thoughts turning in tight, unforgiving circles.

Severus tossed the bedclothes aside and pulled on an old dressing gown over his nightshirt. The clock on the mantelpiece said it was very nearly midnight.

He cleaned the dust off the framed photograph with his thumb. She was nowhere in sight.

~~~*~~~

Harry climbed the stairs up to the first floor two steps at a time, crushing the small bouquet in his hands out of sheer nerves. He didn't know what any of the flowers in the bouquet even were; the florist had explained while she tied them together, but Harry's mind had been elsewhere.

Snape might had been asleep when Harry promised to visit again, but Harry was a man of his word. Yes, a day later than he had intended. Yes, after being chided by Professor McGonagall. The morning visiting hours had just started. Snape was a free man. And Harry--

He hesitated at the door to the ward, his hand on the handle. He took a deep breath before letting himself inside.

The Auror's table was gone, as were the Aurors and the chains and, to Harry's growing unease, Snape. The curtains that had kept him hidden away for the past few days were gone, the bed to which he had been chained freshly made.

"You just missed him," Healer Smethwyck said from his office desk, barely looking up from his paperwork. "He discharged himself this morning. Against his Healer's protests, mind." He jabbed at the parchment, leaving sploshes of ink in his wake. "Thinks that just because he could recreate a few life-saving miracles, he knows what's medically best."

"Do you know where he went?" Harry asked over the sound of his heart beating hard against his chest.

"He went home, didn't he?" Smethwyck said. "Maybe you should look for him there."

"Where's that?" Harry said softly.

Smethwyck looked up from his work. The quill twirled between his thumb and forefinger. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you," he said. He waved his hand at Harry, shooing him away. Harry took the hint, taking one last look at the empty bed before leaving.

Shoving the bruised bouquet under his arm, he went to the visitor toilets and locked himself in one of the stalls. He fished out his father's old Map from his moleskin pouch and spread it out over his knees. At a touch of his wand and a rushed vow, the Map opened itself to him, but the happy rush Harry usually felt at the sight of his father's name was dimmed against the knot of worry growing in his stomach.

He sat on the toilet seat, the stems and leaves digging into his armpit, and scanned the Map over and over again, searching for Snape's name. Other names jumped out at him, Hermione's and Ron's, Hagrid's as he walked back and forth across the grounds. Professor McGonagall was in the North Tower. Luna's in the Great Hall.

No one lurked down in the dungeons. No one paced in the Headmaster's office.

Harry stayed in the stall until his eyesight blurred and the Map shook too badly to read properly. "Mischief managed," he mumbled, wand tip to parchment, and tucked the Map away.

His fingers felt icy against his cheeks. The mirror above the sink cooed sympathies as he splashed some cold water on his face. "A little water isn't going to make all that red go away, dearie," it said as Harry wiped his face with the inside of his shirt. "Best to just cry and let it all out in one go,"

"I'm not crying," Harry said.

"There's nothing shameful in it, dear," the mirror said as he stormed out of the toilets, bouquet in hand. He Apparated to Hogwarts from behind a skip and dragged his feet to the school gate, the cold northern winds painfully refreshing against his flushed skin.

Hagrid spotted Harry as he shuffled by the groundkeeper's hut. He waved at Harry with a large, open hand.

Fang tottered up to Harry and licked his hand. He gave the old boarhound a scratch behind the ears.

"Going to check on the beasties," Hagrid said. He had a string of dead rabbits draped over his shoulder. "I could use an extra pair of hands. A few of the Thestrals are still healing from the battle, and I need to check up on them."

Harry shrugged but followed Hagrid into the edge of the Forest. They cut a winding path around uprooted trees and past destroyed paddocks. "Gonna start clearing all this next week," Hagrid said in lieu of an explanation as they moved deeper into the Forest. "Had to get everyone settled into their new homes first."

Hagrid looked down at the bouquet in Harry's hand. "What happened to those?"

"Dunno," Harry said. Most of the flowers had been sliced cleaned off. All that remained were the tissue-wrapped stems and a bit of the tiny white baby's-breath flowers. "I think I Splinched them on my way back." He stared down at the mangled bouquet, unable to let it fall, discarded, from his hand.

The canopy above their heads grew thicker. The forest grew dark and silent around them. A bird sang out, its song cut off mid-warble. Hagrid stopped by an ancient pine tree, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed a shrieking cry.

Fang dropped to his haunches and yawned, lapping at his jowls.

Hagrid started pulling the rabbits off the line. "Do you want to talk about it?" he said.

Harry shook his head. His eyes burned. "It's embarrassing," he said in a quiet voice.

A Thestral slipped out from between the trees, its white eyes glowing in the gloom. Hagrid shook one of the rabbits at it.

"Emotions ain't nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry," he said. The Thestral inched closer. He tossed the dead rabbit at the creature, which caught it with a snap of its teeth. "Especially after the week you've had. No one would think less of you if you cry now and then." He handed Harry a rabbit and nudged him towards the Thestrals slowly gathering around them.

"It's not that," Harry said. He lobbed the rabbit at a trio of Thestrals. They tore the rabbit apart between them. "It's--" One of the smaller Thestrals nudged him with its nose, searching for a treat of its own. He patted it and gently nudged it aside. "I went to see Snape and he wasn't there." He ran a hand over the Thestral's side. "The Healer said he went home."

"That's good," Hagrid said. "Means he's all healed up."

Harry blinked at the wetness in his eyes. "Yeah."

"But," Hagrid said, jerking his hand back before one of the Thestrals took his fingers as well as the rabbit he was feeding it, "I can understand why you're upset. It must have felt like the last drop that spilled the potion."

"I guess," Harry said, his eyes transfixed on the Thestral's glossy coat as he stroked its side. "I meant to see him yesterday. After Remus and Tonk's--" His fingers traced the bumps and ridges of the Thestral's bones. It made a trilling sound and stretched its wings, brushing Harry back.

"And you'll see him again," Hagrid said, tossing the last of the rabbits at the herd. He patted Harry's head, nearly knocking Harry to the ground. "Just wait and see."

Harry sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

~~~*~~~

The broken furniture clattered itself back together. The scorch marks Vanished off the stones. As he wandered through the halls, Severus charmed and cleaned and mended.

The Slytherin hourglass in the Entrance Hall clinked as the shards slotted back into place, the glass melting and smoothing itself new. "Fifty points to Slytherin," he awarded himself, amused as the emeralds tumbled down to the bottom bulb.

As he traveled up each floor, he prodded stones to slot themselves back into the walls. He pounded out the dents in a battered suit of armor. He cast spells because it was better than lying in the darkness of his bedroom, scratching at his forearm and counting his heartbeats.

He wandered through the halls, clearing away debris and losing himself in the familiar. Severus touched the walls and felt the thrum of the castle against his fingertips. A week had passed since he had last prowled through these corridors; it felt more like a lifetime.

A large section of the third-floor corridor had been destroyed. The outer wall had been blown apart, along with several rooms on either side. As Severus ran his hand along the wreckage, his heart began to palpitate.

He knew this corridor. He could taste the cloying, overripe romanticism soaked into these stones. He drew back as if scalded and wiped his hand on his dressing gown in disgust.

The pound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Severus drew himself into the shadows and held his wand at the ready.

Of course, he thought as Potter dashed around the corner, a bit of magical light on the tip of his wand and a piece of parchment in his hand. He was dressed in a thin t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, hardly the best sartorial choice for a midnight stroll. Severus pulled his dressing gown closed, willfully ignoring his own attire.

The boy stared, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. The light of the _Lumos_ gave his eyes an eerie glow.

"Snape."


End file.
